


Rough around the edges

by WhisperingSweetNothings



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Abusive Parents, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Blaise Zabini - Freeform, Blaise Zabini is a Good Friend, Denial of Feelings, Draco Malfoy Needs a Hug, Draco Malfoy is Bad at Feelings, Draco Malfoy is Not Amused, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Felix Rosier - Freeform, Fluff and Smut, Forced Marriage, Gay Blaise Zabini, Gift Giving, Hogwarts is Home, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Jealousy, Loss of Virginity, Lucius Malfoy Being an Asshole, Misunderstandings, Not Canon Compliant, POV First Person, Pining Draco Malfoy, Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Ravenclaw!Reader, Reader is a Pureblood, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Touch-Starved, Wedding Night, draco deserved better, virgin!reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:55:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 31,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27645139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhisperingSweetNothings/pseuds/WhisperingSweetNothings
Summary: Reader is in Ravenclaw and a pureblood. Meaning: She doesn’t get to decide who she’ll marry.Enter Draco Malfoy who has enough problems of his own.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Reader, Draco Malfoy/You
Comments: 18
Kudos: 215





	1. Chapter 1

It’s just Draco Malfoy standing in the now empty DADA classroom. Professor Lupin made most of the class face a boggart – Harry, among others, being the quite obvious exception. And then he’d run out of time. 

It’s been interesting, to say the least. Seeing what people are afraid of although it was mostly common phobias.  
It was humiliating to have others see what you fear the most. When it was my turn, the boggart turned into the tapestry hanging in our hallway, depicting the lineage of our oh-so-important pureblood line. 

I could feel people stare and quickly made the tiny portraits turn into clown faces, glitter and confetti shooting out of the now cheap-looking fuzzy fabric. Some students cheered and I just made my way to the back of the room quickly, hoping no one would ask why I’d fear a tapestry of all things. No one could have possibly seen that there’d been a tiny portrait of my unhappy face next to a blank space that would soon be filled with the portrait of my husband.  
Grandma had made her pick and when I turn 17, I’ll finally know who I’m going to spend my miserable life with. Continuing the lineage was most important, after all. 

The creaking of a cupboard door pulls me back. Malfoy has opened it, freeing the boggart. I only now realise that he didn’t get a turn either, staying far away. I feel like I’m intruding but I can’t possibly look away as Lucius Malfoy steps out, cane held in a raised hand in a way that looks like he’s about to strike. I flinch when I realise what the implications of this are. My throat suddenly feels dry and I manage to get away in time. Catching a last glimpse of Lucius Malfoy in a pink miniskirt with matching bunny ears.


	2. Life *does * go on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys! I'm so sorry that it took me so long to write a new chapter. Life happened: a job interview and then being turned down, way too many Zoom meetings, writer's block, and, you know, that pandemic you may have heard of.
> 
> After rewatching some (ok, all) HP movies, a pint of ice cream (or two), and too many glasses of whisky to count, here we go again.
> 
> I'm floored by your sweet comments and kudos! Here's hoping that I don't disappoint with this update. 
> 
> Much love, always. 
> 
> P.S.: Friendly reminder that English isn't my first language and there's no beta.

Even though it’s been weeks, I still keep replaying what I saw in the DADA classroom from time to time. But that wasn’t the worst part because it was a genuinely human reaction. Anyone would have been disturbed by seeing a dark, looming Malfoy coming out of the cupboard, no doubt. What worried me was another development: Since I had never really paid attention to Malfoy’s absence _nor_ presence before, it struck me when I realised that I had actually started to. Staying behind and hiding in the back of class, as always, never actively reaching out, but always trying to spot that impossibly blond head of hair in the crowd. I still don’t know why I did it. Why I’m doing it. It’s not like I actually _know_ Draco Malfoy or _want to_ get to know him, never had the desire to chat him up and compare how self-important our families are. His family’s politics make me keep my distance anyway and having a possibly abusive parent doesn’t make him hate his pureblood upbringing.

Of course, there is an abundance of rumours spreading like wildfire through the school, always, occasionally bordering on the absurd. While I do understand the even larger amount of rumours Harry Potter seems to inspire, surely knowing which Bertie Bott’s flavour Draco Malfoy prefers (Sugared violet) and that he has been seen on his own at the Great Lake doesn’t exactly seem like huge news to me. But then again – and I can basically hear my mother’s high-pitched voice in my head complaining about me being a recluse – I don’t care. I _shouldn’t_ care. That’s the issue. The bunny ear-incident – Lucius-Malfoy-probably-is-an-abusive-asshole-incident doesn’t quite roll of the tongue – is making it hard not to.It’s too relatable, in a way.

Not because it’s Draco Malfoy, per se. Not because I’ve ever experienced physical abuse. It is just a perfect reminder how flawed it all is: Pureblood rules and traditions, being forced to become and behave like someone you’re not, next to no way out – unless you want to be disowned entirely. And even leaving the family, for whatever reason, doesn’t remove the stain of belonging to a pureblood-fanatic family. So you adapt, or try to. Apparently, there are three ways to handle this nightmare:

1\. You either smile and accept it, no matter how much you hate it and let it eat you up from the inside, 2. you try to find tiny compromises like I do to make it a tiny bit more bearable, or 3. you take your frustrations out on others. It doesn’t take a genius to realise which option Malfoy seems to have chosen although it doesn’t make a lot of sense, does it? Someone being so proud of being a Slytherin and his heritage, showcasing his wealth any chance he gets.

I remember the day I got sorted and huff out a laugh. It had taken so long that even Dumbledore had seemed to get impatient. The reason? The sorting hat trying to convince me how much I’d like being in Slytherin. And for maybe the first time in my life I had put my foot down and gotten what I had wanted: Ravenclaw. The aftermath hadn’t been pretty, of course, and actually turned into my grandma giving me the silent treatment for weeks – not exactly a punishment but she didn’t have to know that – after she had unsuccessfully tried to convince Dumbledore to redo the sorting. My parents knew better how to make me regret it by grounding me whenever we had break from school. Still: It had been hilarious. The first of the Lowe family _not_ getting into Slytherin. I felt kind of smug about it but since this surname does come with strings attached, it took quite some time until the wariness of my house mates had ceased. Just because I had made the right choice for once, it didn’t make me a trustworthy person sans pureblood-fanatism in everybody else’s eyes.

Being the granddaughter of the author of the infamous “The Muggle Conspiracy”, Sinistra Lowe, doesn’t exactly make you a person anyone would try to befriend – unless you support this insane theory which is also the reason the Slytherins gave me the stink eye. Never stopped doing it. Although I have managed to make friends (or well, acquaintances), I still fly solo. I wouldn’t want to burden them with my problems anyway.

I stare down into the cooling tea in my cup and cast a glance out of the window of the Ravenclaw’s common room, the sky grey and cloudy, before I take a sip and grimace at the taste of lukewarm violet tea. “Are you quite alright, (y/n)?”, a soft, melodic voice interrupts my daydreaming and I actually jump a little. “Luna”, I sigh and manage a smile. Luna Lovegood is standing in front of the blue chaise longue I’ve been half-lying on and her eclectic outfit is as spectacular as always – green pants, a striped sweater with too long sleeves, her favourite radish (or plum?) earrings, and an orange cardigan thrown over it. “Of course”, I nod and adjust my posture, as I always do when someone pays attention to me. Stupid instincts. Her light blue eyes bore into mine, clearly not convinced. “Maybe you should head outside for a bit. There are so many Wrackspurts outside. I can loan you my Spectrespecs!“ I bite back a grin and just shake my head instead. “That’s a very nice offer but I have to return some books to the library anyway, maybe research a bit.” Luna accepts my white lie and skips outside again. The books I had taken with me are piled on the tiny coffee table next to me, a barely begun essay on “Medieval Witch-hunts” on top of them. Sighing, I grab my bag and utensils and finally head out.

Enough overthinking for today.


	3. A hippogriff named Buckbeak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still amazed that people are reading this, really! I have written several chapters in the last few weeks, some that will definitely make sense of the maturity-rating but for now: some angst and Draco being his stupid self.
> 
> I'm at my parents' house right now and with so many days with so little to do, I hope I can squeeze in another chapter soon.
> 
> Whether you celebrate Christmas or not: Happy holidays and stay safe!
> 
> Much love, always.

“This is hopeless…”, I groan. I’ve been spending hours consulting the books on the reading list Binns had given to us, allegedly being a huge help. Not surprisingly, the list contained nothing which had been published after his death in the 1970s. I let the heavy book on witch-hunts fall back onto the table with a heavy thump which earns me a stern glare from Madam Pince. I send an apologetic smile her way and hear someone close to me snicker. I turn to the direction of the noise, prepared to shoot the person my best ‘none of your business’-look – courtesy of my grandma – when I see Harry Potter at an adjoining table, holding out another, equally thick, book.

“I guess you’re also wasting this beautiful day here to write that essay for Binns? Asked Hermione to write it for me but at least I got some book recommendations that aren’t included on that shoddy list he gave us. Check out the third chapter, it should give you all the answers you need!”, he half-whispers and somehow manages to avoid Pince’s wrath directed at everyone talking in these holy halls.

“Um, thanks?”, I whisper back and realise that it’s the first time Potter has ever talked to me. It occurs to me that I might have subconsciously avoided him and wish I had noticed it sooner. The realisation just makes me feel bad about myself – I guess you really become like your (grand)parents even if you don’t want to. Unless you break through the prejudices.

He just gives me a small smile, nods, and returns to an impressive pile of books on Herbology. Apparently another essay Hermione refused to ghost-write for him.

– – –

Hagrid looks both nervous and excited when we arrive at the forest opening, ready for our first Care of Magical Creatures class with him. Unable to stop myself, I let my eyes roam, seeking out one person in particular. _Get a grip, Lowe,_ I remind myself and try to focus on Hagrid’s excited monologue on… Hippogriffs? I draw in a shuddering breath when Buckbeak makes its appearance. After a rather nasty encounter when I was younger and dear cousin Reginald, a brute and contender for the prize of being named the family’s idiot, had provoked the creature and managed to almost get his eyes hacked out, I have to admit I’m still a little afraid of them. Quite unfortunate that I ended up close to the front instead of my preferred last row of students this time. I hold my breath during Hagrid’s lecture and can’t help to envy Harry’s courage. A true Gryffindor indeed. I wish I could say the same but the second Buckbeak steps closer to where I stand, I gasp and stumble back, almost falling on my behind. Helplessly, I clutch the first thing I can reach which happens to be a dark robe covering a firm body. A large hand grabs my elbow before I hit the ground face-first and when I look up, ready to apologise and thank the person for saving me, eyes of steel meet mine. I gulp and scramble to remove myself from Draco Malfoy’s iron grip, letting go of the soft material of his robe in a heartbeat. Eyebrow raised, he looks down at his robe, before his eyes meet mine again, and brushes his fingers against the fabric, just as if something dirty had landed on it and he wanted to flick it off. For fuck’s sake. Dumbfounded, I just stand there, feeling my cheeks heat up. _Say something_ , I beg myself, but my brain refuses to cooperate and doesn’t provide me with a witty reply.

“Watch it, _Lowe_ ”, he snarls and gives me another death stare that actually makes me want to die on the spot while his companions, a very smug Pansy Parkinson included, snicker and murmur something along the lines of me being a traitor _and_ a klutz. Thankfully, Hagrid saves me by just grabbing Harry Potter and seating him on Buckbeak, the two of them taking off immediately, soaring in the sky.

I use the moment to hide in the last row again, trying to gather my wits. That was utterly humiliating.

The class is already over and I have almost – _almost_ – recovered from being ridiculed by Malfoy, when his cold, snarky voice pipes up and once I’ve made out the words, I know he’s in big trouble. He’s provoking the proud animal by questioning its worthiness, not giving it the respect it requires. The result is as violent as it is quick: Without hesitating, it punctures Malfoy’s arm with its sharp beak. While I feel so sorry for him (since _when?_ ), Pansy Parkinson’s fussing and the attention he gets due to his absolute over exaggeration and stupid sense of superiority (“I could have _died_! My father will hear about this and he won’t be happy. Gonna kick out this unworthy, pathetic excuse of a teacher in no time!”) just make it obvious that he is an asshole, a narcissist. 

Somehow my heart still aches. A little.


	4. It's my party, and I'll cry if I want to

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one but there's Roger Davies, a little, and a few feelings. We're slowly getting there.
> 
> I promise that the next update will be longer. Just bear with me.  
> I hope you're enjoying your holidays. 
> 
> Much love, always.

After yet another incident – Buckbeak – I’ve accepted my destiny which consists of both loathing and sort of looking out for the asshat that is Draco Malfoy. After his injury, he’s been insufferable. Always bullying Harry (of course) and letting his true (?) colours show which means telling Hermione Granger, the brightest witch, that she’s a mudblood and giving zero fucks about anyone who doesn’t meet his stupid pureblood expectations. Whenever he does it, my blood boils and I wish I had the guts to tell him how stupid this is. How much of it (aka: everything) is nurture, not nature.

The sad climax consists of Harry Potter competing in the Triwizard Tournament. I suspect it’s mostly because of the attention Harry gets. It’s too obvious that Draco Malfoy wants the same recognition. That’s my theory, at least.  
While he certainly loves the Durmstrang attitude, he still seems slightly anxious whenever Hogwarts competes – whether it’s Harry or Cedric Diggory. But maybe I’m imagining things.  
This seems like a common occurrence nowadays. Me imagining that Draco Malfoy is soft, actually. He proves me wrong all the time. Maybe it’s time to realise that some people are as bad as they seem. 

The lowlight – and highlight – is the Yule ball. Roger Davies, heartthrob of probably everyone, has asked me to accompany him to the festivities even though he and Fleur Delacour hit it off the second they met. Still – he asked me. And to be honest, I don’t even know why I said yes.  
He’s handsome and popular, there’s no doubt about it, but I still feel weird whenever I spend time with him. He treats me well, he really does, but the comfort I’ve expected never comes. It’s awkward. Roger showers me with gifts. Candy, jewellery, special trips to Hogsmeade. I smile, I accept, and the feeling that I should be over the moon kills me slowly. I’m not. I still look out for Malfoy. Even when I don’t want to. It’s just become natural to check. And what I’ve found out is that it’s mostly Malfoy’s posture that tells me how he is. There have been several times when he looked like he was aching, holding himself differently, apparently sore. Those times made me revisit the incident because I suspect and fear that Lucius Malfoy is the cause of it.  
However, I don’t say a word. And why would I? Malfoy and his entourage hate me. It’s none of my business. Especially when there’s a guy who’s doing his best to sweep me of my feet. I should be grateful. I should.

When the ball arrives, I’m nervous. I’m wearing a forest green dress that’s elegant and feminine thanks to the lacy fabric , my (h/c) hair styled in a way that’s not overdone but still pretty.  
Roger looks so handsome too in his tux but the second we step into the Great Hall and I get a glimpse of Malfoy in a tux, I’m not sure I can survive this evening. He’s so handsome I want to cry. The crisp white shirt, white waistcoat and bowtie somehow still set off his light hair and complexion. Pansy is standing next to him and looks ridiculous because she seems so plain.  
“(Y/n)? Did you hear me?” I realise Roger has been asking me something and I snap out of it.  
“Sorry”, I mumble, “I just love how the Great Hall looks. It’s beautiful.” I gesture vaguely and maybe, just maybe, it’s not the hall I’m looking at while I’m saying it.  
“I’ll get you a drink and then I’ll remind you of the dance you’ve promised me”, he grins and I almost sigh. Roger is handsome, considerate. Even my family would be supportive, but I ignore that thought. It’s above me why I feel bad.  
After a glass of spiced pumpkin juice, Roger drags me to the dancefloor. I let him lead and catch glimpses of Malfoy and Parkinson every now and then. My heart clenches. They seem so close; their interactions are nothing like Roger’s and mine. An unknown feeling makes my skin crawl whenever we pass them. 

I refuse to acknowledge that it might be misplaced jealousy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dress I imagined is this one, in case you wondered: https://www.luulla.com/product/720329/forest-green-lace-appliqu-s-tulle-floor-length-prom-dress-featuring-one-shoulder-bodice-with-bow-accent-belt


	5. Do the Hippogriff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go again.
> 
> There's a mild situation of dub-con/non-con, but I hope no person reading this is a huge fan of Roger. If it triggers you, please don't read it.  
> In the end, it's just more angst.
> 
> Much love, always.
> 
> P.S.: I feel like I should mention that I don't own these characters.

Roger is occupying me. I can hardly catch my breath because he seems dead set on dancing me to death tonight. 

“Can we please sit down for a minute?”, I breathe out and smile at him, hoping it would work.

“Of course, (y/n). Would you like me to get you a drink?”

I sigh internally. He’s so sweet. I don’t feel like I deserve this. Even if my mind wasn’t occupied otherwise, _cough cough_ , I still don’t think I’d have picked him. He’s just too… _perfect_. Where are the rough edges that remind you that neither you nor the person you’re with are perfect? And maybe it’s also the thought that both my parents and grandparents would be over the moon. Somehow, it’s too easy and the thought almost shocks me. Since when could things get _too_ easy?

“Yeah, thanks. Do you think there’s any way to get something that’s not pumpkin juice?” I try to smile, and it works, to my surprise.

Roger shoots me a mischievous smile and nods, winking.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

While he’s gone, I have way too much time to look at Malfoy and Parkinson, still gliding across the floor. I would like to say that it doesn’t hurt. But it does. And I still can’t explain why exactly. 

When the formal part is over, I let out a breath of relief. It’s still suffocating. It reminds me too much of trying, of pretending. 

What I wasn’t prepared for is the band they hired. The Weird Sisters. And of course – _of course_ – their first song is »Do the Hippogriff«. The lyrics don’t mean a thing, but the title. My mind immediately goes to the several incidents I’ve experienced with Malfoy yet. The boggart, Lucius Malfoy, the hippogriff.

When Draco Malfoy’s gaze flickers to me, gazes locking – it’s hardly two seconds but _still_ – I think he feels the same. That doesn’t help at _all._

When Roger returns with Firewhisky, I can’t help but smile. He cocks an eyebrow and shakes the bottle. 

“Look what I found”, he grins and puts the bottle between us, pulling out several glasses. 

“Perfect”, I murmur and hope that this might take my mind off of things.

After three shots, I realise, really realise, that this was a stupid idea. Or rather: Even my tipsy state of mind tells me that it is. Instead of helping me get delightfully tipsy, I can’t help staring at the table where Malfoy is seated now. 

Parkinson is basically sitting on his lap, caressing his face. I never experienced this sort of feeling, but I want to shake her, wrestle her off of his lap. I feel _violent_. Angry. 

I have no cause. 

Roger is equally tipsy and has gotten a _lot_ more handsy. Pulling me closer, stroking the small of my back. 

“Please don’t”, I whisper, trying to get away from him.

“What’s wrong with you, (y/n)?”, he smiles brightly and pulls me closer again.

“Roger, please. I… I don’t want this”, I plead and can even hear how slurred my voice sounds. It doesn’t diminish my protest, though.

“Oh, come on!”, he tries to encourage me and presses wet kisses to my neck.

“Roger!”, I shout-whisper and try to push him away again. 

“Sweetheart, what did you expect?”, he mumbles, grabbing my waist. “Didn’t get you all of those presents for nothing, huh?”

I feel like I could puke. His words just make me feel like a _hooker_.

I stand up immediately and try to find peace close to the bar. Unfortunately, he follows and crowds me again.

“Roger…”, I repeat and try to escape his hands. “Please let me go.”

I notice the anger that flashes across his face. It scares me. 

His gaze turns dark and it looks like he very much would like to pound on me. I’m halfway to shielding my face, when Roger is being pulled away. Disorientated, I open my eyes again, meeting steel-grey eyes. 

“Are you alright?”, Malfoy's husky voice really shouldn’t affect me, but it does. I can’t believe he’s the one who took care of this _situation_.

“Um, I think?”, I mumble and stare at the floor. 

“Lowe, just say the word. I can destroy him”, he replies, eyes narrowing, and it sounds deadly. Like he's mad too. My head whips up, finding his gaze again. He really looks murderous. Ready to strangle Roger. 

“I think I’m fine…”, I say weakly, not being able to meet his eyes again. 

I wince when a hand lands on my shoulders, squeezing it comfortingly. Malfoy’s eyes bore into mine.

“Are you sure you’re ok?”, he repeats, basically mesmerising me with those cloudy eyes of his. 

“I think you prevented the worst”, I finally admit, utterly defeated, and try to hold back the sigh of relief when he squeezes my shoulder again. 

When I wake up the next morning, I cringe. “Do the Hippogriff”, indeed. 


	6. Takes one to know one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short interlude because I somehow couldn't stop typing, continuing the story.  
> I don't own any of the characters.
> 
> Much love, always.

My head is _pounding._ I have a vague recollection of the Yule ball, but the most prominent memory is of Malfoy saving me from a drunk, disrespectful Roger Davies. He literally saved me. What would have happened if he hadn't been there? 

I try not to think about the other implication too: He wouldn’t have noticed if he had ignored me. Which means: He had been looking at me, watching me.

_No._

Better stop those thoughts right there. Still, memories of Roger – pressing unwanted kisses to my neck, crowding me – resurface. I don’t even know how to face him. It would be embarrassing if it wasn’t for the minor detail that he tried to take advantage of me. Trying to bargain some sort of deal that would have consisted of me ‘repaying’ him for the presents he had given me. Not accepting a 'no'. In broad daylight, way too bright daylight – as a matter of fact –, it's even worse. 

I burrow into my pillow, groaning. It would have been easier to just deal with Roger. Just him, not Malfoy too. Although the thought of him makes me anxious enough already. How will he behave the next time we meet? He’s a fellow Ravenclaw. Another meeting is inevitable, isn't it? I start to question whether or not I owed him _that_. After the gifts, the attention. I'm spiraling. The joy of self-worth issues.

Finally, I shudder again. This time it's because cloudy grey eyes reappear, and make it very hard to focus.

_He was with Pansy. He saw Roger because he happened to be looking. A coincidence._

But he intervened. That ought to count for something. Or does it? Did he keep an eye on me?

Looking out for Malfoy after the incident felt natural, somehow, but having the tables turned makes me uncomfortable. Malfoy doesn’t even _like_ me. He made that very clear. So why did he watch out for me, prevented the worst? The headache from overthinking might be worse than my actual hangover. 

Maybe the saying rings true, after all: Misery needs company.


	7. No light, no light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me again!   
> I hope you had a nice NYE celebration and are as glad that the dumpster fire that was 2020 is finally over.  
> Let's celebrate with you meeting Malfoy again after Christmas break. Things should look up after his heroic action, right? 
> 
> Much love, always.

If I had ever thought that Malfoy stepping in, stepping _up_ actually, would change anything, I’m sorely mistaken. The tiny flickering of hope is stomped on and buried the second we meet again after the Christmas break: Potions class. I’m seated at my usual table, next to a brightly clad Luna, thankfully far enough away from Roger Davies who seemed ashamed when his eyes caught mine. That’s the least he could do although an actual apology would be nice. I avert my gaze immediately and am happy that Luna is distracting me by babbling about some magical creature that may or may not exist.

“Uh, I’m sure you’re right”, I nod and hope that it fits whatever she said last.

Her bright eyes bore into mine, investigating. She tilts her head and squints, before a smile breaks out on her face. Going by her reaction, I probably just agreed to her craziest theory yet. Oh well. Before I can ask if she can expand on it again, the creaky door of the classroom opens again, followed by Snape and his precious Slytherins crowding the place.

Somehow I can sense Malfoy’s presence once he has stepped inside. My head whips up, accidentally looking straight into his grey eyes. _Frosty darkness._ Instead of the sort-of-familiar steel grey, I’m taken aback by the metallic sheen, the hostility that I find in them. My throat tightens and an embarrassing blush starts to spread on my face. As much as I wish for a softening smirk, something that tells me that it might be an uncomfortable situation for both of us – _because it is!_ – and that it’s alright, or alright-ish, I get a menacing sneer. The Malfoy-sneer™️ he had saved for everyone he deemed unworthy, far below him, _garbage_. I feel like all the air has been drained from my body. Tears shoot into my eyes and I blink rapidly to keep them at bay, staring at the potions book in front of me. _Wow._ So much for thinking Malfoy had a soft spot for me in that granite heart of his.

Time doesn’t seem to pass. It rather flows like syrup, never seeming to end. One minute seems like an eternity. It doesn’t exactly help that Snape is even more dead set on torturing us than he usually is, and all I can be thankful for right now is the autopilot I developed for moments like these. All those years trying to adapt to my parents and grandparents’ expectations pay off:

When you feel like breaking apart – fake it. And boy, do I succeed at that today powered by the sole thought that is: _Don’t let Malfoy get to you. Do NOT cry in front of him_.

Whenever there’s a question being asked, I do my best to answer them. With the utmost care, I prepare the potion –, and receive a mumbled praise from Snape which does not happen often. I suppose I should be ecstatic. My classmates and a few Slytherins eye me curiously, knowing full well that I usually don’t speak up unless I _absolutely_ have to. A quiet sort of academic success is my forte. Or was. I ignore the stares and straighten my posture, focusing on Snape instead who’s listing our assignment and uses the last moments to deduct house points from Ravenclaw because Luna didn’t realise he had asked her something – the usual problem of her excessive daydreaming.

“Good job, Lowe”, Snape snarls, black eyes fixed on my face.

I blush and lower my gaze.

“Thank you, sir”, I reply slowly, and turn to exit the dungeons.

A scoff behind me is all the warning I get, before a solid body shoves me aside, a potions book making painful contact with my ribcage. I bite my lip to stop myself from yelping.

“Watch it”, Malfoy seethes, not even looking at me, and I fear that he does not only mean me blocking the door a few seconds ago. 


	8. Numb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay. Life happened.  
> But I'm sort of back on track and grateful for everyone who's still along for the ride.
> 
> Much love, always.

Time truly flies and I can hardly believe that this is my 5th year at Hogwarts already. The good thing about being a weirdo is that I somehow managed to get along with most students without ever being part of a clique. It’s somehow reassuring and yet the feeling of not belonging tugs at my heart at times. Ignoring it usually works, though. At least in this respect. After Malfoy’s angry behaviour, I was worried. I really was. Even though he usually only barks but doesn’t bite. If that makes sense.

To be honest: Draco Malfoy has been his usual self, if I may say so. I’m not sure if that’s an assertion or a complaint – always spending time with Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, and those idiots, Crabbe and Goyle, I think?

That aside – it never stopped. Even after Malfoy being a giant asshole – I care. And even though it’s not much – driving him insane by getting better grades is still some sort of contact. Our 5th year is also almost over. Which means: I have roughly 15 months left before I know. Know who’ll be the one I have to dedicate my life to even though I’d rather not.

Whenever this particular thought pops up, I do my very best to shove it down again. I would never forgive myself if I spent the last good years just worrying what’s about to happen instead of living in the now. This time is valuable.

I always thought people where overexaggerating how nice their childhood and teenage years were. But now I know they’re right. Acknowledging that my time is almost up… hurts. I pull my blanket closer around my body and try not to sigh, try not to break down. Try not to show how much it bothers me. Knowing that I’m about to spend my life with a pureblood douchebag. Not knowing how life would be without those restraints. Not knowing how my life will turn out.

Thankfully, my grades are more than fine– mostly Outstanding, with the odd exception being an Acceptable in Divination, courtesy of Trelawney and me not being at the same wavelength at all, and seeing this class as what it is – hokum. Noticeable proof? Prophesising I’d have a happy life in the long run. Right. Good one. Has she met my family?

After that, Arithmancy seemed like a much better choice. Working with numbers surely felt better than reading tea leaves and pretending it wasn’t a waste of time. At least this class won’t taunt me by saying everything will work out just fine.

Hokum.


	9. Homemade dynamite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter because I was so absent.
> 
> I hope you like it. Always open for criticism, comments, and kudos! 
> 
> Much love, always. <3

Potion class is as fun as it always is and Snape is an absolute delight to be around.

Shrinking solution is what we’re supposed to brew today, and I feel confident enough, having done some advanced reading before. Is all of this also part of my semi-official plan to stay ahead of Malfoy in class? Hell yes. The Buckbeak-incident, yes, yet another incident to add to the list, has made me petty. Since revenge isn’t my style and I’d never admit to wanting to prove myself anyway, there usually is only one way to annoy someone: to silently succeed despite it all. And that’s what I’ve been quite good at, only Hermione Granger receiving better grades. I just know it irks Malfoy whenever a teacher praises me, especially when said teacher is Snape.

  
So, yes. I’ve come prepared. After Snape’s usual soliloquy and grilling people with questions, it’s time to gather the ingredients for the Shrinking solution. The only thing missing is a rat spleen. And of course, Malfoy is standing in front of the jar containing them, apparently disgusted by the ingredient and hesitating.  
“Would you please hurry? I can assure you that rat spleens are nothing to be afraid of.”  
Hold up, where did the sass come from? I usually am so good at ignoring Malfoy’s jabs, and comments, and his entire presence in general, but today – no such luck.  
“Charming, Lowe. At least I’m not afraid of a fucking tapestry.” Malfoy sneers and raises his eyebrow provocatively. Of course, he has seen and understood when Lupin made me face the boggart. Something inside me snaps and somehow it feels long overdue. Before I can stop myself, I lean closer, stare into his grey eyes and whisper, just so that he can hear it:  
“Well. At least it wasn’t my daddy who walked out of that cupboard, right?”  
The second the sentence has left my mouth, I realise what I have done and barely manage not to cover my mouth with my hand in shock, regretting it immediately. Oh no. _Oh no._

Malfoy looks like I’ve just slapped him (and I don’t appreciate the irony in this moment), his facial expression changing from almost vulnerable to angry to _ice, ice cold._ This can’t be good. Malfoy doesn’t even blink while he continues to scrutinise me with those unforgiving eyes, before he manages to snap out of it.

  
“You better watch what you’re saying, or this might end badly for you… But I could imagine this would be like doing your family a favour? Can’t imagine why they haven’t disowned you yet anyway, soiling your family’s name with those little, dumb acts of defiance. You’re not worthy of the blood running in your veins. Such a disgrace.”

I wish I could say that his words mean nothing, but they do. Without another word, without another look in my direction, he takes one spleen and marches back to his workstation.


	10. Time flies even when you're not having fun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys.
> 
> Another chapter. I promise we are close to the big revelation. And I'm so excited to post the next few chapters.  
> For now, you'll get a little more angst. You know you love it.
> 
> Much love, always.

The sixth year at Hogwarts is almost coming to a close which also means that my 17th birthday is only a few months away. Although I had convinced myself that _nothing_ could shock me anymore and that I would treat this forsaken marriage just like intended – a business transaction –, my nerves get the better of me. Hearing my parents and grandma talk about it excitedly doesn’t exactly help either. Just seeing them with that stupid twinkle in their eyes, obviously content with who they picked, makes me want to jump of the nearest cliff. How can they not see that this is the 101 for making your offspring’s life hell? At least the big revelation will happen during the summer break, giving me some time to adjust before it’s time to return to Hogwarts for the last year. As an engaged woman.

It doesn’t come as a surprising insight, it really doesn’t. But just having to acknowledge that I’m for better or worse ( _definitely worse_ ) closer to those Slytherin idiots just by partaking in this farce, by accepting my fate, will lessen me in everybody else’s eyes. Again.

I don’t belong. Either group can’t stand me. The former not only because they had an issue with me before, but due to the mistake of insulting Draco Malfoy during Potions class. I haven’t forgotten. Neither have they, although I’m certain they don’t know _why_ he decides to pick on me even more than usual. There’s no chance in hell that he casually told them I made fun of the difficulties between him and Lucius. So it’s probably another stupid rumour he decided to spread to save his face. In a weird, totally masochistic way, I feel like I deserve this. It was a low blow, totally uncalled for. This insult is everything I never wanted to be: rude, insensitive, downright mean. Just another bully. Malfoy obviously doesn’t show his hurt feelings or makes his distaste for my person so obvious that I could prove his bullying, tell a teacher – _anything._ No. His modus operandi consists of being as snide as always, casting stares that make me watch my back all the time. He wouldn’t stoop so low and actually hurt me, would he?

After so many confusing, mixed message I’m not certain anymore. There used to be those moments. Faint memories by now, of _soft_ grey eyes, not exactly friendship but at least not loathing. Did those really happen or is my brain drawing up images to fuck me up even more?

Regardless. Those icy grey eyes have become the focal point of my newly acquired nightmares.

I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop. The uneasiness I experience is driving me crazy. It’s stupid but the go-to reaction is shutting down, again. Just focusing on school, becoming the hermit I once was. I can’t recall the last time I talked to someone outside of class, talked about something that wasn’t homework-related. Will this ever change? Probably not. Pureblood marriages aren’t exactly known for their happiness, being all rainbows and puppies and cloud nine. On the contrary.

A treacherous, totally illogical part of my brain whispers that I’ll have someone who’ll defend me by getting engaged. A futile thought, really. Chances are he’ll be on his side anyway. Whether I like it or not, the Malfoy family has _power,_ and I can’t think of someone who would actually have the balls to stand up to them.


	11. Killing me softly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's almost 2am, I had some wine and now some (= way too much) coffee and I just couldn't wait. Here's part 1 of *the* revelation.  
> Please let me know if you want this story to continue. I've been floored by your kudos, really. Feel free to a leave a comment!
> 
> Much love, always.
> 
> P.S.: Friendly reminder that English isn't my first language, and that I don't have someone who betas this.

When I wake up on the 12th of August, I need a moment before a blissful “It’s my birthday!” is replaced by “This is probably the day I die on the inside”. My stomach is churning while I get ready for breakfast and I’m pretty sure I can’t eat anything anyway. As expected, most of my family is downstairs already, seated around the big table in the dining room.

“(Y/n)!”, my grandma gushes and an uncomfortable, heavy silence settles down once I’ve taken a seat.

“You know how long I’ve waited for this day. I’m so proud of the proper lady you’ve become and that you’re continuing our beloved bloodline. Nothing could make me happier.”

She actually has tears in her eyes. She actually believes that this is the best and biggest day of my life. Like all I ever wanted was to end up on that tapestry. Forcing down the bile in my throat, I manage a weak smile and just want to get it over with.

“This being said, you’ll be pleased to hear that the candidate we wished for the most will accept you as their bride. He’ll be informed today as well. Every party concerned is more than happy with what we accomplished and how well this fusion will preserve the purity of the blood.”

I groan internally. _Great, married off to the most fanatic dude of them all, I can feel it already._

The breakfast we’ve been served in the meantime does not look very appetising and I take a sip of coffee just to have something to do with my hands. It’s bitter and burns my throat. I’m still glad for the distraction it shortly provides.

“So, without much further ado: (Y/n) Lowe, heiress to our legacy, will give her hand in marriage to Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy’s lineage.”

I immediately choke on my coffee. _This. Cannot. Be. Happening._ My head feels like it’s about to explode, hardly being able to process what I’ve just heard. Malfoy. Draco. Malfoy.

What kind of sick, fucked-up fever dream is this?

I carefully school my face into an inexpressive mask, desperately hoping my initial reaction – choking on my coffee – hasn’t given my discomfort away. Somehow, ‘the most fanatic dude of them all’ sounds way better than Draco Malfoy who despises me with every fibre of his body.

Apparently, everybody takes my silence as a sign of my complete and utter bliss; the joy of being married off to the prestigious Malfoy-heir clearly has rendered me speechless. Clearly. It has nothing at _all_ to do with the fact that they couldn’t have made a worse choice if they tried. Since I’ve kept all the drama happening at school to myself, they don’t know that we are at each other’s throat, metaphorically speaking, insults being passed back and forth like it’s a fun pastime. It’s not a grand jointure of two families. It's forcing two people together who dislike each other _a lot_. It seems kind of ironic.

My grandma speaks up again, squeezing my wrist with her iron grip.

“Dear, take your time. I know how exciting it must be, knowing what an honour befalls our house – and theirs. Of course, you will have to meet the Malfoys soon. First then the engagement will be official and made public.”

I force myself to smile, nodding, planning a grand escape in my head. How hard would it be to fake my death and start a new life far, far away from here? Or maybe I could just go into witness projection? The possibilities seem endless and all equally impossible. This really is my life now.

“I’m so proud”, my mother gushes and encompasses me in one of those rare hugs I receive. And for an announcement like this, no less.

“We are expected at the Malfoy’s manor at 4pm. But now enjoy your special day!”, my grandma smiles fondly at me.

Right. My birthday. Enjoying it. No fucking chance.


	12. Stone Cold Sober

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go again! Part II of the announcement. Let's meet the in-laws and the fiancé himself.  
> Thank you for the comment and the kudos. Can't believe it's so close to 100... Bonkers!
> 
> Usually, I'm never 100% content with the chapters, perfectionists' lot, but this time I must say that I actually like how this one turned out.  
> I hope you enjoy it as well!
> 
> Much love, always.

At 4pm sharp, we – my parents, grandma and I – are standing in front of the ridiculously huge mansion and are led into the hall by a very frightened and intimidated house elf. Their house is elegant and luxurious, yes, but also so, so cold. Figuratively and literally. I’m glad I’m wearing a cardigan over my (y/f/c) dress, shivering slightly despite the heat. It’s mostly empty; furniture – valuable antiques, obviously – sparsely scattered across the space. No personal touches, nothing. The various portraits of family members hanging on the walls stare down at us, judging us. In the end, it’s a spacious prison. No wonder that Malfoy turned out the way he did.

The Malfoys are waiting for us. All dressed in black, head to toe, mostly wearing the same blasé facial expression. Only Narcissa Malfoy looks happy…ish. Lucius Malfoy’s hard gaze fixates on me. It makes my skin scrawl. I look to Malfoy Jr., hoping that maybe he will at least have a glint in his eye, anything, really. I need to know that I’m not alone here.

No such luck though. The way he looks at me reminds me way too much of the time I lost it during Potion’s class. Disdain, that’s what his face shows. It’s somehow worse when I think about the fact that his family approved of the _transaction_. It very much looks like we’re both screwed. Ended up where we never wanted to be. I gulp, feeling how my fingernails dig into my palms because I’m clenching my fists so hard. It’s either that or screaming really loudly.

The welcome is formal, and mostly consists of exchanging pleasantries neither side truly means.

I end up standing close to Malfoy Jr., perfectly aware of how tense he is, tensing even more when Malfoy Sr. shoots him a look or places his hand on his shoulder. It’s obvious that he’s clenching his teeth. He’s barely looking at me, and I suppose I’m glad for it. It’s way easier to ignore our _engagement_ this way. It’s still lingering in the room, this feeling of utter helplessness.

“Draco, Miss Lowe, why don’t you go to the salon while we adults talk. I happen to know that there is a piece of jewellery that needs to be put on this hand”, Narcissa Malfoy says and smiles brightly at me.

I want to puke.

Right. No engagement without an engagement ring. So much for being able to ignore that this is actually happening. Maybe I can somehow cast a charm on the ring, make it invisible to others. I really don’t want my classmates to know. Hell, I wish _I_ didn’t know.

Although, even with my quite decent Charms knowledge – with Narcissa Malfoy and my family being so ecstatic, there’s a solid chance we’ll end up in a special feature in the _Daily Prophet_ anyway.

Sullenly, I follow Draco Malfoy who has barely even said a word to me, to the so-called salon, another huge, lavishly decorated room. At least there’s a fire burning in the fireplace, despite the heat outside, providing me with some much-needed warmth in this cold, impersonal space. I plop down onto the velvet chaise longue with a heavy sigh, not giving a damn about being proper and hiding my fury (or is it the all-surrounding powerlessness?) anymore. Malfoy is just standing there, eyes hard and unforgiving. Seconds tick by, the silence is deafening. I finally break the stare-off, tearing my eyes from his and instinctively inch closer to the fireplace.

“So, is this some sort of ploy to punish me for ‘soiling my family’s name’? A personal vendetta?”

Draco looks coolly at me with another stupid rise of his stupid eyebrow.

“Is this any way to talk to your fiancé?”

I feel like he slapped me. Emptied a bucket of ice water above my head. The reality of _all of this_ comes crashing down on me so hard, I have to fight back the tears of fury I feel pooling in my eyes. The bastard smirks, clearly enjoying this new powerplay despite the resigned look on his face that he couldn’t hide entirely.

I briefly consider bludgeoning him to death. This would save me from marrying him, so win-win for all of us? Too bad the only thing available is the tiny box on the table, most certainly containing my engagement ring to make this farce perfect. I grit my teeth and don’t give him the satisfaction to fall for this.

“You do realise then that the purpose of this is to pretend to be _happy_ , yes? I think I speak for both of us when I say that I can barely stand being in the same room as you.”

Something in Draco’s face changes for a hot second before the impassive look returns. And since when did I start calling him _Draco_ in my mind anyway?

“Save it, Lowe. Just take the ring and put it on.” He pushes the box closer to me, not even pretending that he wants to put it onto my ring finger himself. I shoot him an annoyed look for good measure before I open the red box. Even though I don’t like this, don’t like him, don’t like anything about the situation – the ring _is_ beautiful: a pear-shaped grey diamond with a rose gold setting.

“Family heirloom. I’d advise you not to lose it”, he remarks coolly, shooting me an impatient glare since I’ve just been staring at the piece of jewellery in my hands instead of putting it on. Once I’ve done it, I can’t help holding out my hand in front of myself to see how it looks from afar. Huh. The sudden onslaught of various feelings I can’t even begin to name – or process – make me pause for a second. Better not analyse them.

“Pansy must be pissed”, I finally mumble and catch an amused smirk on his face before it’s gone so soon that I’m not entirely sure if I have imagined it or not.

“Come on then, Lowe. Wouldn’t want to keep your parents and in-laws waiting, right?”

The ease I had felt for a second is replaced by dread. My parents. Draco’s parents. Right. The bunny ears make another unwanted cameo in my head. It’s been so long since I’ve last thought about this. Like Draco predicted: They are already waiting for us. Narcissa Malfoy and my parents look so happy. At least in comparison to the scowling tall figure next to them. Apparently, their ‘adult talk’ hasn’t cheered him up. The second we have entered the room, Lucius Malfoy’s eyes bore into mine again and I suddenly think that if I had to face a boggart anytime soon, it would look just like him too.

“Miss Lowe, soon to be Mrs Malfoy”, he finally drawls and takes my hand to inspect the large diamond sitting on it. It takes a lot not to flinch when his cold skin touches mine. My skin crawls. “Be sure that we are _most excited_ for this union.”

The dripping sarcasm doesn’t escape my notice. I plaster on a fake smile and mumble a standard, polite response, feeling very shy and unsure of myself. _Get it together,_ I desperately beg myself.

Damn Lucius Malfoy. Damn Draco Malfoy who decides it would be a good move to put his arm around my middle and pull me a little closer. He is one hell of an actor. He must be. I wish I had a decent explanation for the goosebumps that spread across my skin immediately at the contact. Or my heart thumping erratically against my chest. Yes, we’ve never been this close before, but that’s no reason for my heart beating like it wants to escape my chest. What is _happening?_

“Don’t scare her away just yet”, Narcissa interjects good-naturedly and I like her a little more right this instant. She grabs my hand and actually tears up a little when she inspects how the ring looks on my finger. “Welcome to the family, (y/n)”, Narcissa says at last. “I’m sure you’ll take good care of our boy.”

Maybe I’m imagining that Lucius sneers for a second. I really hope it’s just my imagination playing a trick on me. Draco tenses up immediately. So maybe not an imagination. _Pretend_ , I tell myself and nod, casting a smile at Draco, catching a sight of his tense form and clenched jaw. I never noticed the mole sitting there on his sharp jaw before. There’s another one just below his hairline on the back of his neck. _What the FUCK are you doing?! FOCUS!_

Miraculously, I manage to snap out of whatever the fuck _that_ was. One corner of Malfoy Sr.’s mouth lifts up in a barely noticeable sneer again, clearly loving the effect his sole presence has on both of us.

“I intend to.” It doesn’t feel like a lie, even though it should.

For a fleeting moment, it feels like the pressure of Draco’s hand on my waist increases.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the inspo for the ring in case you wondered how I imagined it: https://bylu.myshopify.com/products/unique-engagement-rings-pear-shaped-rough-diamond-charleen-pear


	13. An Enemy of the People

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I already tagged this little story as "Not canon compliant" but I figured it might be nice to say *how* it diverges – after 12 chapters, no less.  
> First of all, Draco obviously doesn't get together with Greengrass in the end. Also, the Lowe family is, apart from Sinistra Lowe, entirely made up.  
> The abusive relationship between Draco and Lucius, although implied in the books imho, and Draco actually having (and also showing) softer sides – later – aren't canon-compliant either.  
> Thankfully, I know nothing about abusive parents or how the victims would behave, so those descriptions are based on Google-research. If I get something wrong, please tell me. Please keep in mind that I'm in no way trying to romanticise either abuse or 'saving' abused persons.  
> Another important divergence: Voldemort exists in this fic and so do the Death Eaters but they are neither powerful nor very active at this point. Which means Harry Potter & Co actually got some peaceful school years and fewer cancelled exams. Almost everything regarding pureblood politics is made up, too, forced marriage included.  
> That’s about it!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter that's slightly longer than usual – 2k! The title refers to Henrik Ibsen's play which I highly recommend, by the way.
> 
> Much love, always.

So, I’m an engaged woman now. At 17. In a year, I’ll be married. An age at which every _normal_ parent would probably desperately try to discourage their children from getting married so early.

Anyway. The thought still hits me like a brick occasionally because it feels so _surreal._ Engaged to the one person I can’t stand whose family mostly consists of pureblood-supporting dickwads. I try to keep telling myself that things could be worse – or could get better, gotta keep things interesting –, but I’m not sure how.

Summer is a whirlwind of dinners at both the Malfoys’ and our place – awkward silences included–, drinking tea in expensive shops that make me uncomfortable, trying to avoid meeting Malfoy Sr.’s penetrating stare while simultaneously trying to get used to Draco’s frankly distracting presence next to me. While this itinerary probably sounds relaxing, or at least not like a huge burden, it actually drives me nuts, falling into bed relatively early, exhausted from acting like the perfect fiancée the entire time. The only upside of it is the fact that Draco is less tense when we need to interact because it makes me more relaxed too, and actually getting to know things about him that make him more human, less icicle, in my eyes: Like how he puts two spoonfuls of sugar into his tea and the occasional coffee – clearly despising anything bitter–, prefers blueberry scones, refuses to eat Brussel sprouts, hates raisins. Or how his mouth twitches when he is annoyed, or the way the corner of his mouth lifts in the tiniest half-smile when something pleases him, and he doesn’t want to show it. And most importantly: How he seems less burdened, almost carefree, whenever Lucius isn’t around. If there’s anything to be glad about, it’s that the constant meetings of our families apparently have an effect on Lucius’ abusive behaviour. Judging by Draco’s relaxed posture, not limping or trying to hide soreness, he has been spared. I hope it will stay this way.

It’s barely another week before school starts again and I try to convince my family that wearing the ring during school is a stupid, very bad, no good, totally-not-sensible idea, what with the risk of losing the priceless piece of jewellery, the potential envy (or jealousy…?) of my classmates, hell, of the entire school.

“Well, they should be envious. And you should wear this fabulous ring any chance you get, dear. It’s the symbol of your betrothal to this charming, young and undeniably handsome man of one of the most important pureblood families. If you don’t wear it, they won’t know just how lucky you are”, my grandma explains and eyes the grey diamond with a fond smile. It hits me that it’s the ring who counts for her, is important to her, not the person wearing it. She just doesn’t get it.

_Them not knowing is what I want. Why would they even think I got lucky? It’s not like Draco is Prince Charming, far from it, actually._

I open my mouth for a last, desperate argument against ring-wearing but am interrupted by the arrival of the Malfoys who are invited over for dinner. As always, Draco is looking perfectly neutral, standing there in another all-black outfit. I try to remind myself that I can still win this battle – and I’m not sure what I’m referring to at this moment –, but a nagging voice in my head tells me otherwise.

The news of our engagement has spread like a damn wildfire. It doesn’t come as a surprise, it really doesn’t. Like I feared (or rightly predicted), there _was_ an announcement in the _Daily Prophet_. Complete with separate pictures of both Draco – displaying an impressive scowl –, and me, fake-smiling tightly. And even though it barely filled one quarter of a page, people – my grandma most notably who couldn’t hide her pride – did what they always do: talk. So being back at school after the break feels like someone’s watching me at any given moment, some discretely trying to catch a sight of the massive diamond on my finger, others literally gawking, not even trying to hide their curiosity. The words ‘pureblood marriage’, ‘forced engagement’, and various insults of both him – _He’s such an asshole, I feel so sorry for her_ – and me – _Can’t believe they would pick_ her _of all people. Talk about a downgrade for Malfoy_ – seem to be murmured whenever and wherever I pass someone. Even Snape eyed me curiously. Harry and Hermione shot me pitiful glances, same goes for Luna and even _Roger fucking Davies_ smiled sadly at me when I met him in the common room. I wish I could say all of it doesn’t bother me, but it does. I had done such a good job of mostly flying under the radar during the last six school years, never wanting to be the centre of attention. Those times surely are over now. The only person I sort of manage to avoid is Draco himself. The irony isn’t lost on me.

The worst part so far comes after dinner in the Great Hall when I pass Pansy Parkinson on my way out. She looks downright _murderous_. It’s common knowledge that her crush on my now-fiancé always has been monumental. Obsessive even. Draco didn’t exactly help it by inviting her to the Yule ball or letting her fuss over him when he had Quidditch injuries. _Where those really Quidditch injuries though?_ I shudder at the involuntary thought that this might have been Lucius’ doing as well. Anyway. Parkinson has quickly walked over to me, clearly intent on causing a scene. The shorter girl stands in front of me, her stance aggressive.

“Can’t believe they chose scum like you”, she just seethes.

 _Well, hello to you too._ I school my face into a blasé mask, courtesy of Malfoy himself – I learned from the best –, and shrug like her comment means nothing.

“Not my fault that your family’s bloodline isn’t good enough, Parkinson”, I grit through clenched teeth, wishing for this – all of it – to be over. I hate using this argument because it is just what grandma would say. I’m nothing like her, nothing like them. It does have the intended effect though and hits too close to home for her liking: Parkinson flinches visibly and gives me another deathly stare, clearly ready to fight back. Maybe preparing a snide comment that I don’t deserve this honour, the attention, Draco – but how she does. Maybe ready to hex me. Mentally preparing for the worst, I cross my arms in front of my chest, rolling my eyes. Suddenly a warm hand curls around my shoulder, squeezing it lightly. I turn around to Draco who looks irritatingly dashing and ready to kill someone at the same time, and for a moment I’m not even sure if he came over to save me or Parkinson. Did he hear my comment? Will he defend his best friend’s, fuck buddy’s, or whatever-she-is-to-him’s honour?

“Shut it, Parkinson”, he only says, still holding onto my shoulder. It feels like my skin is blistering, his handprint leaving a mark even through the layers of fabric.

To an uninvolved outsider, the look of shock on both my and Parkinson’s face must look downright hilarious. That comment is far from what I expected.

“You’re _defending_ her? After all she did? She hates our world, she has no respect whatsoever”, the Slytherin girl murmurs angrily to Draco as if I wasn’t standing right there, hearing every word. “She doesn’t deserve you.”

Draco rolls his eyes so exasperatedly that I have to bite back a laugh. Am I having a fever dream? Is this actually happening right now? Parkinson has a heartbroken look in her eyes.

“This is about politics, Parkinson. And you should know that neither of us had a say in this. She” – Draco’s eyes flicker to me – “could be engaged to a mountain troll if he had the right blood running through his veins. Or I could even be engaged to you.”

I almost choke, mouth agape, and whip my head around to look at Draco’s smug expression after casually handing out such a devastating insult. Parkinson looks like she’s about to bawl her eyes out any second. I almost feel bad for her. Almost. Without another word, she turns on the spot, fleeing the Great Hall.

“Anyone else bother you today?”, Draco asks as if nothing just happened. As if we usually meet up in the Great Hall to chat casually after saving me from an outburst from his crazy admirer. He looks pleased with himself.

“Uh, why? Are you gonna insult all of them?”

A pale eyebrow is lifted, the Malfoy-smirk in place.

“Believe me, Pansy needed to hear it. She would have bothered you any chance she got otherwise. I actually did you a favour, Lowe.”

“Thanks”, I deadpan, “also for drawing all the attention to us. People are staring.”

Of course people have noticed me standing with both my fiancé and the girl who had been pining for him for years. It’s like everybody stopped eating, now waiting for… something?

“Naturally”, he drawls arrogantly, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. My fingers twitch when one strand sticks up. _No, Lowe._ I don’t know what my facial expression looks like to him, but a sudden dark glint in his eyes makes me want to take a step back. He looks like a predator, ready to pounce on his prey.

And he sort of does, because, before I have managed to form either a coherent thought or bring some distance between us, his hand suddenly cups my cheek softly, perfectly, lips crushing onto mine. I stare at his closed eyelids, the long lashes touching his cheeks. I’m frozen into place, quite certain that ‘deer in the headlight’ is a fitting comparison. My hands are clutching at his robes, fingers digging into the muscles beneath.

The kiss – _kiss!_ – lasts only a few seconds and even that is enough to short-circuit my brain for good. It’s just _too much_ : the softness of his pillowy lips, the barely noticeable stubble scratching my soft skin, the overwhelming combination of being encapsuled by his body heat and the masculine, expensive scent that I can’t even describe because it’s just _Draco_. Actual gasps can be heard from the crowd, someone wolf-whistles. I suddenly remember that we have an audience and are not, in fact, alone, and manage to pull away. My face is beet red, a shuddering breath leaving my lips.

If I hadn’t known better, I would have said that Draco looks _affected_ too, his lips slightly swollen and a faint blush high on his cheeks. Must be the light playing tricks on me. He clears his throat, sending a not-as-perfect-as-usual grin my way. Without sparing a look at the speechless crowd, he loosens my iron grip on his robes, holding my hands for a second too long for it to be accidental. His hands are rough from Quidditch and so _warm_. I don’t know why I expected his skin to be cold. It hits me that this is probably the first actual touch we share, kiss not included. I’m not sure what I’m even supposed to do with this insight except never, ever think about it again. No point in that.

“I think that should be enough to keep them occupied today. Lots to talk about”, Draco grins, actually _winks_ and leaves the hall without looking back. Of course he was acting. Another power-play. A sinking feeling makes itself known that makes me snap out of it.

My brain goes online again, pressing me to leave the scrutiny of the other students as soon as possible. I just grab my bag, feeling each and every pair of eyes on me. My own eyes downcast, I head straight to common room, thankful when I find it unoccupied. I fall face first onto the first couch, muffling a scream against the pillow. My fiancé is a nightmare. (My life, too, for that matter.)

 _Why_ would Draco want to punish me like this, knowing full well that I hate being the centre of attention? _Why_ make it official that I ‘belong’ to him now? In that way, no less? People knew before, it had been made official in a damn newspaper _._ In short: It was in no way necessary. I must have done something _very_ bad in a past life to deserve this.

I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling, my fingers touching my lips absentmindedly. Wishing I could obliviate myself just so I would stop thinking about it. It was only a few seconds. No tongues involved, just a peck. Nothing to get worked up over. It’s not. My traitorous mind helpfully reminds me how _good_ I felt. It felt. The-kiss-that-must-not-be-named.


	14. The Dress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!
> 
> You've probably picked up on it anyway, but most of the chapter titles are references to songs I like. This chapter refers to Blonde Redhead's "The Dress". And this is also what this – admittedly short – chapter's about – finding a dress, *the* dress.
> 
> Much love, always.
> 
> P.S.: The smut is coming soon-ish. Promise.

I had hoped for a small wedding. I really did. Those hopes were crushed when my mother and Narcissa teamed up two months ago after ‘we’ decided on a wedding date: September 20. Letting both of us turn 18 first. So nice of them.

“An autumn wedding!”, they had gushed and listed how beautiful everything will look, like the foliage in the sunshine. I just nodded and tried to come to terms with me being wed after having graduated just a few months ago. We had _graduated_. I had managed to pass my NEWTs with flying colours, Draco almost matching my score – which annoyed him to no end of course and had been the subject of more than one uncomfortable ‘family’ dinner. Lucius liked to point it out any chance he got and every time I just wanted to hex him when I felt Draco tense next to me at his words. The friendly(ish) competition we had between us is different from your own father telling you what a disgrace you are, when even your soon-to-be- _wife_ surpasses you. A statement that made me tense up too because _fuck you very much, Lucius Malfoy, you misogynist piece of garbage._

Now, however, they present a seating chart to me, listing at least 200 people.

“We know that it’s going to be an intimate event, but we hope that you and Draco are okay with that. After all, it’s the merging of two very powerful families, not some bourgeois event, open to anyone with the right _pedigree_ ”.

Perplexed, that’s what I am. I stifle a hysterical laugh. _Intimate_ with two hundred people attending? It’s not uncommon for those kinds of weddings to have 500+ guests so I probably _should_ be grateful. Except I’m not.

“Draco already gave us his blessing. But we thought it would be best if you also did.”

How nice of them.

“Of course. This looks great, mother, Narcissa.”

They seem way too pleased and with moments like these, I realise anew what I’ve gotten myself into.

“Marvellous. Next is, of course, finding the right dress. We have an appointment tomorrow at 4pm at Merriwitch’s Atelier. I’m sure we’ll find a dress that leaves Draco breathless, absolutely _in awe_ at how beautiful his wife is.”

Narcissa actually _winks_ at me and I bite back a laugh. Yeah. Good luck with that.

To be fair, the dresses the way-too-excited sales associate at the store has prepared on a rack are stunning. They look sophisticated, expensive. Many witches would certainly kill to get wedded in one of those designs. Marrying their true love, wanting to preserve the memory forever. But that’s not what I’m in for. This is business. A transaction.

“Dear, you may pick from these dresses here. The other dresses available looked quite vulgar”, mother pipes up, distaste making her brows furrow.

“Too revealing, indeed”, Narcissa chimes in, nodding, and they both fix me with a huge smile that makes my skin crawl. _What have I gotten myself into._

The dress we finally agree on– after what feels like an eternity – is a dream, even I can admit it, although I probably would have chosen one of those ‘vulgar’ dresses they sorted out in the first place. It’s a soft off-white tulle and lace dress, ¾ sleeves, high neck. Seeing myself in the mirror, I barely recognise myself but see the role I’m going to have to play – the perfectly content pureblood wife, wearing a dress that costs more than most people make in a year.

It’s a costume.

“It’s perfect. We’ll make sure Draco’s suit matches the dress; don’t you worry about it!”

“Great”, I reply and try to sound chipper, casting a final glance at myself in the huge mirror before I hurry to take the dress off, feeling like the high neck actually stops me from breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the inspiration behind the dress's description: https://i.weddingomania.com/2019/03/04-a-beautiful-vintage-lace-wedding-dress-with-a-turtleneck-half-sleeves-and-an-overskirt-looks-very-delicate.jpg


	15. I do, sort of

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The day is finally (?) here - the wedding.  
> Also I'm way too proud of the venue-pun.
> 
> Much love, always.

The weeks pass like a blur. Consisting of tasting different menus that consist of twelve – yes, _twelve_ – courses, cakes, wines, champagnes. Deciding on a location which ends up being Hengrave Hall, Bury St Edmunds (more like Bury (y/n) Lowe, right?). Approving ridiculously expensive wedding favours (engraved silver lockets and gold-plated quills, anyone?), deciding on a colour scheme that obviously ends up being green and silver. I’m sure they – _Lucius –_ wanted to include black, too, but it’s a wedding, not a funeral. In theory, at least.

It’s just too much in general. I want to get it over with. Nothing more, nothing less. So many decisions that I ultimately have little to no say in.

Draco expertly avoids getting dragged into the organisation, consultation, decision-making, and I envy this talent of his. I suppose it’s weird that he doesn’t even care one little bit. Like it doesn’t concern him, like it doesn’t affect his damn life, like he couldn’t care less. A sobering insight.

I thought this moment would never come, but everything is being taken care of, decided, on its way. There’s nothing left to do but wait and go stir-crazy. It’s the worst countdown in the history of countdowns.

Three days. Is this _really_ happening?

Two days. I want to flee.

One day. My nerves are frayed. I wish I could talk to Draco about it, maybe wallow in self-pity together. He just seems apathetic when I see him. His face as blasé as it always is. Maybe he really doesn’t care.

_Today._

I wake up due to my mother knocking on my door.

“It’s 7am. You should get up and get ready.”

A simple command and yet I freeze, panicked. I’m getting married to Draco Malfoy today. To him. Of all people.

“I will, mother”, I reply and force myself to take a shower and prepare as much as I can before the many, many people arrive to take care of my hair, my makeup, my outfit. I feel like a mannequin, a marionette. All I need to do is say _yes._ A simple task, a simple word. It will still change my life and I’m quite certain it’s not for the better.

Draco is wearing a tailored suit that matches my dress. Of course he is. _Of course_ he looks handsome in it. His hair is neatly parted, and it’s actually an improvement compared to his usual combed-back style. _Not that I care either way._ I stare down at the bouquet in my hands, fixating on the lilacs and heathers. Their meaning isn’t lost on me – lilacs mean ‘’passion’, even ‘first love’, heathers mean ‘admiration’. At least they spared me the roses.

When I reach him after what feels like an eternity, I have managed to calm myself down a little. Just getting married. That’s what people do. Nothing unusual about it. _A transaction._

Draco’s eyes are unexpectedly soft when he gazes down at me, eyes roaming over my face, then my dress. He seems pleased at least. I can’t remember him regarding me with such tenderness before.

The ceremony must be beautiful because I hear both his and my mother sob. Too bad I’m so focused on not losing my shit right now.

“To seal this magical union, you may exchange rings and kiss your bride.”

The dreaded words. I almost expect Draco to start laughing, to tell everyone how fake it is. That we’re just putting on a show for those sick pureblood-fanatics.

He doesn’t. Instead, he grabs my hand, puts the wedding band onto my finger and leans closer. My breath hitches as I return the favour and give him his ring. They are surprisingly simple, just polished white gold with a few grey diamonds set in mine. Matching the engagement ring, of course. I feel like rolling my eyes, when Draco steps even closer and makes my mind go blank. He gives me the tiniest smirk, before he leans down.

His lips meet mine in a chaste kiss that's barely there and still seals my fate. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The venue: www.hengravehall.com


	16. This is me trying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I couldn’t wait to upload this chapter, and since I have no self-discipline whatsoever and can't stick to a schedule if my life depended on it: enjoy almost 4k! 
> 
> Things are about to get smutty, too. (Also my first time – hehe – uploading smut on here so I hope it's not extraordinarily poorly written and you don't think it's cringey!) TW: There's a rape-reference, but no rape happens! It's all consensual between Draco & you!
> 
> The wedding customs are made up/based on Muggle traditions, and some of the wandlore is my idea, too. When it comes to the menu, feel free to imagine a vegetarian/vegan variant of the dish. I'm a vegetarian myself but felt like a pureblood wedding would entail 'classic' food, if that makes sense.
> 
> Much love, always.

I sit there beside my _husband_ at the head of one of the ridiculously long tables, course number six – seared lemon garlic scallops that actually smell heavenly – in front of me, but I barely manage a bite. For someone who prefers to be on their own, being the centre of attention of 200 (or so) people is nerve-racking, awkward. I wish I could just leave. Draco seems to not enjoy himself either, if his posture is anything to go by – it’s rigid. I carve the prongs of the fork through the buttery liquid next to a half-eaten scallop which gets me an elbow to the ribs.

“Smile, eat, _act_ happy, for fuck’s sake”, Draco grits out so lowly that nobody else hears him but me. Okay, so much for him not being affected by all of this. He’s on edge, too.

“Fine”, I snap back and pop the scallop into my mouth, gingerly pressing the cloth napkin to my mouth after I have finished. If he wants me to act, I _will_.

“Exquisite, isn’t it?”, I turn to Draco, smiling the fakest smile I can manage just to rile him up. The poor guy almost chokes on his wine.

“Indeed, it is”, he pats my hand, touching the rings adorning it, maybe a tad harder than he needs to. His face is as sneer-y as it gets but from afar and to everyone who hasn’t been subjected to The Sneer™ as much as I have, it probably looks like a perfectly normal interaction between spouses. If only they knew. I bat my lashes at him, smiling, before I return my focus to the next course that has materialised in front of us. Number seven it is, roasted duck with orange-bourbon-molasses. Well, at least the food is good while the company isn’t.

I feel like I can hardly move after we have finished the twelve courses. I want to lie down and sleep it off, preferably _alone_. Not going to happen, though, because soon is the time for all the guests to come up to us, congratulate, hand us presents. 200 guests. This will take forever, I’m sure.

Draco stands next to me, looking straight ahead, like a good soldier. My hand is resting on his forearm, putting the rings on display. When the first guests approach us, I can’t help softly squeezing his arm, feeling the tense muscles under my fingers.

An eccentric woman in even more outlandish clothes appears in front of us, making me wonder how exactly she got invited. She bows her head before coming so close that Draco and I take a synchronised step back.

“Instead of material things, I will test your wand-compatibility for you. I’m sure you’re both excited to learn more about that, no?”

“Our what now?”, I sputter, completely forgetting about my perfect-pureblood-wife-role for a second.

“Oh, dearie, it’s common to check spouses’ wands for compatibility, very common indeed!”

She snatches both of our wands from us, not caring about our protest. _Why_ does she have to go through with that?

“Interesting”, she mutters, rolling Draco’s wand between her fingers, “hawthorn and a unicorn tail hair-core. Loyal, steadfast, and yet complex, intriguing, multifaceted.”

Of course, she would say something like that. While this description is so broad and unspecific that it would fit most people, I still agree in a way – couldn’t have said it better, couldn’t have summarised Draco in a better way. I fight the smile that threatens to appear on my face and keep my mouth shut.

The woman’s eyes – what was her name again? – widen, when she focuses on my wand then. I awkwardly clear my throat, knowing that it’s an unusual wand.

“Unusual, indeed. A wand made by Mykew Gregorovitch himself.”

I see how Draco cocks his head and feel his gaze on me, brows furrowed.

“Snakewood, and a coral core. Was it not Salazar Slytherin who had a wand of snakewood with a basilisk horn-core? Yes…”, her fingers glide over the smooth wood and the intricate carvings while I try my best to ignore Draco’s insistent, intense stare, “resilient yet diplomatic, headstrong yet peaceful, calming.”

I’m sure that I’m mistaken – there _cannot_ be a tiny smile on Draco’s face right now. I blush furiously.

She holds both wands in her hand now, aligning the dark wooden objects, holding them up against the light.

“An unusual pairing, that’s for sure”, Draco and I snort-huff at the same time, “not at all easy. But there’s something…”

A dramatic pause, of course. It takes a lot not to roll my eyes in an equally dramatic way at her antics.

“Something promising, something bright. You should remind yourselves of this when the need occurs”, she finishes, making me squirm as her lilac eyes fixate on me. I immediately shield my mind, a knee-jerk reaction, really. She returns our wands, and then she’s gone as suddenly as she came.

“What the _fuck_ was that about?” Draco murmurs, obviously irritated, and stuffs his wand back into his pocket.

“Hokum”, I deadpan, pocketing my wand as well. It _is_ hokum, something for gullible people that need to find meaning and omens everywhere. I think to myself that Trelawney would’ve come up with something similar since she was so certain my life would be good in the long run. _Ha, still funny._

“Well, couldn’t tell us that this marriage is doomed from the beginning, right?” I try to joke but somehow, it just feels _wrong_. Before I can overanalyse that in my mind, guests approach us again. Saved by the bell, huh?

I was wrong: This takes even longer than I feared. The line of guests doesn’t seem to shorten, the pile of gifts behind us is steadily growing. The thought of sending Thank you-cards to everyone alone makes me want to throw a fit. After yet another eternity of smiling and thanking politely, both our parents stand in front of us.

“(Y/n), Draco, we can’t even begin to express our gratitude and joy we feel on this special day. It went splendidly, I’m certain it will become the marriage of the century. A fateful bond”, my mother smiles at me with tears in her eyes.

_Oh, fuck off._

“As there surely is nothing better than the gift you gave yourselves by accepting the other as your spouse…” Narcissa continues and, not going to lie, I kind of throw up in my mouth a little, “we feel like the only sensible thing to give you is a place of your own.”

Draco draws in a breath, sharply. Is this for real? Not that I wanted to stay at my parents’ house nor move into the Manor (the greater evil, I’m sure) but sharing a house with only Draco? My stomach does a funny flip that I don’t investigate further.

A key, adorned with a bow, no less, is held out. Since Draco seems to have frozen in place, I take the key and thank them.

“Bentleys Kingham”, they explain, and I know the place, having been there when I was a younger. It’s a cottage from the 17thcentury, situated in the picturesque landscape. Knowing that it’s not huge – 3 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms –, I breathe more easily. Also, it’s far enough away from the city, hardly any neighbours around. And, maybe most importantly, _away_ from our parents. After this ordeal, I’d very much like to be left on my own, even though this includes Draco now.

“I take it you’ll apparate after the party, yes? We were so free to move your personal belongings to the cottage. It will certainly do you good to have an _intimate_ space to yourselves.”

I bite my tongue, so I don’t let out an embarrassing whine. Could they word it any dumber?

“We will. Thank you, father, mother, and my dear in-laws”, Draco drawls smoothly, bowing his head. Too startled by his sudden (and perfect) reply, I nod along, feeling the cold metal of the key slowly heat up in my clammy hand.

– – – 

It takes another two hours before we can depart. It’s only 10pm but it feels much later and I’m just exhausted. When Draco has opened the door, I march inside, plopping down on a velvet armchair. My feet are killing me, and I can’t wait to exchange the wedding dress for pyjamas. Draco shoots me an exasperated look, clearly not enamoured by my casual behaviour. He looks around the house, not having been here before. I’m not entirely certain but he looks content-ish. That’s one less thing to worry about. As if reading my thoughts, Draco suddenly turns to me, a very sombre look on his face.

“Let’s go. Marital duty.”

 _Oh dear Merlin. No. No, no, no._ I feel myself flushing bright red.

“No.”

“We have to do this.”

“No.”

“It needs to be done, Lowe. Stop being difficult.”

“No.”

I can basically see how Draco’s patience runs thinner and thinner.

“This is part of the deal. The marriage isn’t legitimate otherwise. Don’t act like this is news to you. And be happy that it’s me you’re arguing with right now. I probably don’t need to tell you how many women were basically raped by their husbands on their first night, and many after that, no?”

His words make me shudder because I _have_ heard those stories before. Even though his words probably were meant to calm me down and reassure me, I take an instinctive step back and cross my arms in front of my chest: “Still no.” Draco runs a hand over his face and then through his – up until then – perfectly combed hair, effectively mussing it up.

“Don’t think it will be enjoyable for me either, Lowe”, he grits through his teeth and turns his back to me. I hadn’t expected that his rejection would hurt _so_ much. It really shouldn’t. We both know what this marriage is based on and what it lacks.

“Charming”, I mumble and fiddle with the simple wedding band that sits atop the engagement ring now. Draco is right of course. I know there’s no way around spending this night together unless we want it to be annulled. The repercussions would surely be horrible. My mind immediately thinks of how Lucius Malfoy might handle this situation with Draco behind closed doors. I take a deep breath and straighten my back. This isn’t only about _me._ For better or worse, we’re in this together now and even though we aren’t exactly friends, a very stubborn, very protective part inside of me – that I really don’t want to acknowledge because _why_? – just refuses to let Draco get hurt again because of me.

 _Do what’s expected. It could be worse_ , I remind myself and think of the many pureblood men I’ve met so far that were, well, assholes and misogynists and had the IQ of a stale piece of bread. Draco still has his back turned to me and stares out of the window into the vast garden. _Our_ garden. It feels absolutely surreal that this is our house now and before I start to overanalyse anything and everything again, I take a tentative step forward to put a hand on his shoulder. His profile is handsome, there’s no doubt about it. The sharp line of his jaw, the tight line of his lips and those grey eyes that look even more troubled in the darkening room.

 _This isn’t what he wanted either. Just do it and you can go back to ignoring each other_ , I encourage myself. Granted, it’s not the world’s best pep talk, but it does the trick anyway. Draco’s eyes meet mine and the snarky comment I expected never comes.

“Ok. I… Ok”, I just nod and hope he gets what I’m referring to. My husband – _husband!_ – gives a sharp nod and, without a word, leaves the living room to head for our bedroom.

“Come on, then”, he murmurs, and I can only stare at the defeated slump of his shoulders.

Although I know what we’re about to do and that it’s not coming as a surprise, my heart races once we’re standing in front of the huge bed that’s covered by a frankly alarming amount of throw pillows in varying shades of beige, white, and forest green. This is happening. I’m not really sure if this would be a good time to tell Draco that it also is the first time for me _ever,_ but I decide to stay silent. No need to make it more awkward than it already is.

“I’m, uh, I’ll get ready in the bathroom”, I sigh after a minute that feels like an eternity. A nod, then Draco begins shrugging of his suit jacket and I flee to the bathroom to gather myself.

I catch a glance of myself in the bathroom mirror and almost laugh because I look pale and frightened, a blush high on my cheeks. I take my sweet time removing the artful makeup and comb out my hair, leaving it in glossy waves. After brushing my teeth, I realise there’s no point in hiding in the bathroom any longer. I take a steadying breath and finally open the door. Draco sits on the left side of the bed that has been cleared from the unnecessary pillows, just wearing slacks and a crisp white shirt. His head whips up and he looks so _sad_ that my heart actually aches.

“I’ll be back in a minute. You can, uh, change, if you’d like.”

His voice is rough and before I can do as much as nod, he has closed the bathroom door behind himself already.

I hurry to take off my dress and find a silky chemise in the closet that I frantically pull over my head so I can crawl under the covers. Just a few seconds later, Draco is standing at the end of the bed, dark green pyjama pants hanging low on his prominent hip bones. I gulp and immediately avert my eyes, only concentrating on the ruffling of the sheets as he joins me in bed.

My heart is beating so fast I may as well pass out soon. Silence. Draco shifts and I freeze immediately.

“Relax, (y/n). I won’t hurt you.” It’s oddly comforting to hear him say my name and I take another deep breath to calm down.

“Ok”, I whisper and feel so small and vulnerable. Finally looking at Draco, I’m taken aback by the unexpected softness in his eyes. The only source of light in the room is a chandelier in the back of the room that spreads a soft, warm light.

 _He’s beautiful like this_ , my mind unhelpfully provides and before I can scold myself, a tentative hand touches my shoulder, long digits running down my arm next. Goosebumps spread over my skin and I hear Draco’s sharp intake of breath. He pulls down the comforter and fully turns to me, resting his body weight on an elbow. I stare at his chest and before I can stop myself, I’ve reached out and run my fingers across the dark bruise on his ribs, but it’s far from the only one. Some seem to be older, already yellowish in colour, but the one on his ribs can’t be older than a day judging by the purple colour.

Draco flinches at my touch and clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable.

“Are you ok?”, my voice sounds soft even to my own ears. It’s a loaded question.

Draco stares at a spot above my shoulder and shrugs, then winces. I make a mental note not to touch the sore ribs and vow to ask him to see a healer tomorrow.

“Got hurt during quidditch practice. Nasty bludger.”

“Right”, I whisper back even though I’m not believing a word. I’m pretty sure I know who did this. Besides – during the preparations yesterday, he wouldn’t have had time to practice, much less with his teammates. My fingers have developed a mind of their own and caress his side, revelling in the feel of his warm skin, trying to comfort him without letting on what I know. Draco seems to mirror my actions and finally pulls me close enough to feel his long, lean body against my own. It’s overwhelming, that’s what it is.

I draw in a shuddering breath when his fingers brush against the hem of the chemise, pushing it up. His hand runs up to my breasts, carefully palming them before he goes lower and lower.

My eyes flutter shut when he stops at the waistband of my panties, the pressure of his growing hardness against my stomach a surprisingly welcome distraction despite the novelty of the situation. Finally, his fingers slip under the material, brushing over my mound, dipping into the slickening folds. I gasp at the touch and feel so wanton when I arch up into this touch.

 _What the HELL are you doing?_ , I chastise myself and try to understand my body’s reaction to him that’s so foreign and yet I seem to enjoy it – despite it all. Despite it being Draco, the husband I _had_ to marry.

“Fuck”, Draco murmurs at my reaction and it’s so soft, I can barely hear him utter it. I want to ask him if I did something wrong but before I can, his lips suddenly are on mine. My mind comes to a screeching halt. This is _not_ what I had expected. This is _not_ what sealing a business deal like this should be like.

“Fuck”, he murmurs again and this time it sounds like he’s commenting the possibly inappropriate kiss and scolding himself. I lick my lips nervously once Draco has removed himself and concentrates on preparing me again, refusing to meet my eyes. I’m thrashing beneath him, going crazy because his fingers are _doing_ _things_ to me.

“Holy shit”, I gasp as one large digit enters me, the pain subsiding after a moment, leaving a burning desire in its wake.

“Are you… have you ever…?” Draco’s husky voice against my ear is barely audible. I just shake my head, not trusting my vocal cords because all I want to do right now is moan when another finger joins the first one, stretching me in a way I didn’t think possible.

The answering hum is deep and his promise not to hurt me is repeated against my collarbone, his hot breath making me shiver. In the blink of an eye, Draco has removed his remaining clothes and lines himself up, pushing in slowly, excruciatingly so. My eyes roll back, and the sensation is almost too much. I don’t know how I imagined it, but his pulsating cock is both hard and warm, and feels like he’ll split me open without mercy. Instinctively I grab Draco’s shoulders, fingernails pushing into his skin, whimpering and biting my lip. It _hurts_. His muscles are trembling, proving how much he’s actually holding back and a few tears of both gratitude and being overwhelmed roll down my cheeks.

“(Y/n) … did I hurt you?” My name still seems foreign on his tongue because it sounds so breathless and rough. Worried.

“No, just… overwhelmed”, I press out and try to concentrate on relaxing my aching muscles and focussing on how Draco’s back muscles tremble under my fingers instead. After ages, maybe eternities, he has finally sheathed himself entirely inside me and we both let out moan at the feeling of being joined. Draco pauses for a moment and rests his forehead on the crook of my neck, breathing heavily. Tentatively, I arch my back and let my hands roam over his back, gasping at the new angle that hits all the right spots, making me see stars.

“Draco.” The whine is embarrassing, I know it, but it seems to be what Draco had needed to hear because he starts pounding into my pliant body, sucking bruises into my skin.

The sensation of his body crashing into mine is so foreign and I try to keep reminding myself that I most definitely shouldn’t be enjoying this. But I _am_. My hands wander up to his neck, finally pushing into his soft blond hair. I accidentally pull at the strands and the growl that leaves Draco is indecent and actually makes me blush even more.

“Fuck yes, (y/n) … that’s it”, he moans and mouths at my throat before I tighten my fists in his hair and pull him closer to me, crashing my mouth onto his. Rules and expectations be damned.

The kiss is desperate and all-consuming, all tongue and teeth, a fight for dominance. It’s filthy and I hate myself for loving every second of it. With a final thrust, Draco spends himself shouting my name and almost collapses onto me. I feel his racing heart against my chest and a very soft, very stupid feeling of fluttering wings in my stomach makes itself known. _No_ , I remind myself. Mistaking marital duty for anything else is idiotic. Still – I can’t help myself and brush my fingers through his slightly damp hair for a few moments, revelling in the comfort of his body against my own, his softening cock inside me.

It takes only a few minutes before the spell is broken and reality comes crashing down on me again. Draco seems to have gathered his wits too and almost abruptly pulls out, leaving me cold and uncomfortably sticky, missing the warmth of his body immediately. His breathing is laboured, his forearm pulled over his eyes. It’s impossible to gauge his reaction and maybe that’s a good thing.

Neither of us says a word, an uncomfortable silence hanging above us.

“I’ll go clean myself up”, I whisper, and wish my voice sounded less fragile. I carry my sweaty, aching body to the shower and make quick work of it, rubbing my skin with the washcloth under the hot stream until it’s pink. Wrapped in a fluffy robe and feeling a bit better, I return to bed, finding Draco asleep already. I stare at him. My husband who had deflowered me minutes ago, who made me make the obscenest noises, now curled up with the comforter pulled up to his chin. His blond hair is left in disarray after running my hands through it and the term ‘sex hair’ finally makes sense. Careful not to wake him I crawl under the covers and spend some time staring at the ceiling, then his sleeping figure, trying to process our wedding night, before sleep consumes me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the cottage that I've kind of fallen in love with – the interior is amazing! https://theawaycollection.com/properties/bentleys-kingham/


	17. Do I Wanna Know?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morning-afters suck.
> 
> Sorry that it's way shorter than the last chapters. Been kinda stuck, life sucks, you know the drill.  
> Title is, of course, a reference to Arctic Monkeys.
> 
> Much love, always.

Warmth _._ I’m surrounded by warmth, _nice smelling_ warmth. When I open my eyes, I blink a few times, willing the memories from last night to not come rushing back. While I almost succeed, the realisation of my position in bed might be even worse than last night’s memories: My cheek is on Draco’s chest, his arm thrown around my waist, holding me tight. How did we even end up like this? I’m almost certain that we were on our respective sides of the bed, each with our own comforter. Yet here we are. Legs tangled together, his cheek resting on the top of my head, my hand on his chest, over his steadily beating heart.

_Oh dear._

I know if I stay a minute longer, I’ll most likely succumb to the temptation that is pressing myself even closer to his body, pressing soft kisses to his bruises that look even worse in broad daylight. The imagery alone makes me curse myself. I _really_ need to keep my emotions in check before I fuck this up even more. Besides – I’m quite certain I’m doing Draco a favour if I extract myself from his embrace right this second. He had made it quite obvious how much he regretted kissing me before we let go of any resemblance of rationality and just went with it. The carnal part of this marriage. That doesn’t count, I’m sure. Cuddling in the morning does. There goes the line that shouldn’t be crossed.

It takes two tries to escape from his strong grip and I breathe a sigh of relief when he doesn’t stir. I silently put on some casual clothes and make a quick trip to the bathroom, staring at my face, then the bruises on my throat that Draco put there. I can’t help but blush, and desperately try to ignore the rush of nondescript feelings washing over me. Before I go downstairs to fix some breakfast, I cast one last glance at his relaxed face, using the opportunity to really take in all the details for the first time: long lashes, soft pink lips slightly parted ( _don’t think about how they felt against yours!_ ), cheekbones so prominent. His hair is sticking up in every direction and he just looks so young, somehow. Vulnerable. My heart clenches at the sight of him, so I turn around and march down to the kitchen before I can do another stupid thing like kiss his forehead. Or crawl back into bed with him.

Preparing breakfast does help to take my mind off of it – for a moment. While taking care of the full English breakfast I realise that I don’t even know if Draco likes it or not. Maybe he’s just the type to down a cup of tea or coffee? How does he even like his eggs? We’ve only had lunch and dinner together, tea in the afternoon. _I’m not prepared for this_.

Just like that, I’ve thrown myself into another overthinking-spiral and only snap out of it when I hear Draco shuffling down the stairs. I feel anxious, a wave of nausea hitting me. _Here we go_.

The contrast to how carefree and soft he looked half an hour ago is stark. He has showered, taken care of his messy bedhead by combing it back, and is wearing what seems to be his everyday uniform – all black, turtleneck sweater included. I don’t know why I expected that things would change for the better from now on. I’m _sorely_ mistaken.

“Are you expecting someone?”, he arches an eyebrow, eyes roaming over the table, taking in the various dishes sitting atop of it. Draco finally raises his other brow looking at my casual outfit, staring at the sweatpants and ratty shirt. So much for letting me be myself at least when we’re alone. Soft Draco is gone, back is the old, sneery, snobby _Malfoy._

 _I was expecting you_. “Uh, no, not really”, I finally mumble, turning back to the kettle, willing my facial expression to stay neutral in case he makes me turn around again by asking a question or making a snide comment. But he doesn’t. He keeps quiet for a bit, seemingly drawing his own conclusions.

“Alright then. I’m off to meet my father.” And then he has already taken a handful of flea powder and disappeared through the fireplace in the adjoining living room. _Great._

I slump down on the chair and barely manage a few bites, my appetite gone after that short and not exactly sweet interaction with my husband. Who is now meeting Lucius Malfoy, probably to tell him that he managed to pop my cherry _and_ make me moan his name? I shudder at the thought and pierce a piece of potato with my fork. Well. At least cleaning up the kitchen will keep me busy for a moment too.

After a shower and clad in a different, much more uncomfortable outfit in case Draco comes back, I lounge in the house. Reading, straightening things up, reading again, then taking a walk through the garden that actually is much more of a park, no neighbours to be seen.

I’m perfectly alone and perfectly miserable.

If every day will be like this, I’m certain I’ll go mad. I’m bored out of my mind already and it’s only been a few hours. The blueberry bushes next to the house are a blessing. I grab a basket and pick enough to make some treats – blueberry scones and blueberry jam. It’s not much but at least I feel productive for the time being. It’s most definitely not to appease Draco’s love for blueberry scones. The raindrops that just can’t stop to seem falling tap softly against the many windows and it’s _almost_ cosy with the fire burning, curled up on the huge velvet sofa with a book, again. The hours pass and Draco still hasn’t come back. Sighing, I cast a glance at the clock. Almost 11pm. I straighten up the living room, make sure the windows are bolted, and finally go to bed, feeling quite uneasy about Draco’s absence and way too alone in the large bed. Again.

My eyes flutter open, one hand instinctively (since _when?_ ) reaching over to the other side of the bed. Nothing there. Or rather: no one. I sit up so fast that I get dizzy and look around frantically. It’s barely 6.30am. His bed is still made, he hasn’t spent the night here. Where the fuck is Draco?

The nagging voice in my head keeps chanting Lucius Malfoy’s name. I wish I wasn’t so worried but knowing what Lucius is capable of makes me uneasy, and with good reason. Sighing, I open the curtains to another dark sky. When will it ever stop raining? Or is this possibly some sort of mood-weather? Because it fits. Maybe I should be glad that Draco is leaving me alone. I would have been grateful not so long ago. But that was before I fucking started _caring_.

 _It was only sex. Stop being such a baby_ , I reprimand myself. A futile attempt, of course.

Even though there probably is a perfectly sound explanation as to why he didn’t come home, I can’t get rid of the uneasy feeling in my stomach. I’m expecting the worst. Clad in a simple dress, I make my way down to the kitchen, hoping a cup of tea will calm me. As I’m waiting for the black tea to brew, my gaze falls onto the sink. _Huh_. There’s a plate, a mug, a dirty knife smeared with a purplish, sticky liquid, and the box with the scones on the table seems less full.

“What in the…?”, I mutter to myself, confused by the dirty dishes I definitely didn’t leave last night. So was Draco… here? How…? I’m baffled.

Tea long forgotten, I make my way through the house, searching the rooms that are as empty as I expected. _He isn’t here_. The second guestroom, though, holds a surprise for me that I never wanted to get: The bed has clearly been slept in, clothes piling on a chair in the corner. Draco’s clothes. There are some books beside the bed, and quill, ink and parchment on the writing board. _He decided to make it his room_. My brain stutters along, trying to understand this. The realisation is as painful as it is quick: He doesn’t want to share a bed, a room. Now that the wedding is through and official, there’s no point in playing house when nobody else is around to observe us. A dry sob is lodged in my throat, and I try my best to swallow around it. I feel utterly stupid as I’m fighting back the tears because I _knew_ : I knew this was a business transaction, something to appease our parents, a means to an end – nothing more. Of course Draco doesn’t want to spend more time than absolutely necessary. I don’t blame him. As a matter of fact, I _can’t_ blame him. If I still shed some pathetic tears because of his behaviour – well, he doesn’t need to know.


	18. Skinny Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Insomnia has me in its iron grip, so I wrote. The title is – obviously – a reference to Birdy.
> 
> Enjoy?
> 
> Much love, always.

The days go by, and somehow it’s already spring. It feels like our wedding happened a month ago, not six. In those months, we settled in (whatever that means), took care of the _Thank you_ -cards, sorted the wedding gifts (a lot seem to have been bought at _Borgin & Burke’s _and I discretely hid them in a carton in the cellar the first chance I got, not wanting to have those wacky items on display). There are monthly dinners either at Malfoy Manor or my parents’ house. Those go as well as one might imagine – Narcissa and mother being over the moon, still reminiscing about the wedding, making not so subtle hints about becoming grandparents ( _never_ ) that make both me _and_ Draco flinch, while my father is his usual quiet self, Lucius is being, well, Lucius, throwing Draco a snide comment or insult every now and then. Pretending that it’s just fatherly, tough love of course. There’s been more than one occasion where I wanted to jump up and tell Lucius to shove it. After a particularly nasty dinner, I somehow convinced them to make those dinners bimonthly.

And in in the end, it’s those dinner dates that structure my life, in a way, because every day is nearly the same: long and lonely. I did send out an application for an internship at the Ministry, but those start in more than nine months and I haven’t heard back from them yet. Draco has done the same, obviously – trying to fulfil Lucius’s dream of his son having a stellar career, I’m sure –, but when he’s not at his parents’ house, he’s hiding in the guestroom. Yes, _hiding_. It can’t be a coincidence that we barely meet in the living room or the kitchen. More than once I heard his footsteps stop on the way to either room – then he must have realised I was there, because I heard him leave again. I never thought I’d say this, but I actually _miss_ sneery Malfoy – it’s better to endure his penetrating gaze and snarky comments than not seeing him at all.

It’s a mild, uncommonly warm Saturday. I’ve taken to gardening – because what else is there for me to do, really? –, and both seeing and smelling the many flowers that have bloomed, the beautiful magnolia trees included, give me a very much needed rush of serotonin. There’s something gratifying about doing things the Muggle-way, actually putting in the work. I’m leaning over the blueberry bushes, pulling out weed, when a shadow falls over me. Seeking me out now? That’s new.

“There’s a spell for that, you know that?”, Draco drawls, tone implying that I must have lost it.

 _It can talk!_ I swallow the snarky reply and take a breath to compose myself.

“I’m aware”, I settle on, voice neutral, not turning around. Draco scoffs. While it’s nice to hear his voice again (I’m not even sure when we exchanged words last, to be honest), I will _not_ engage in an argument with him. Clearly he’s trying to provoke me. Not going to give him the satisfaction, though.

“Anything I can help you with?”, I smile tightly and turn around to face the looming figure above me. He’s wearing a black button-down and a suit jacket, even though it’s easily 22°C outside, and he’s frowning at me like I’ve personally offended him. It’s childish, a reminiscence of Draco as a Hogwarts student, really, always trying to pick fights. His eyes look like quicksilver, poisonous, as they roam my face. Instead of an answer, he just huffs and stalks away. _Wow._ I do hope that this is just an episode, not a foreboding of how life will be with him from now on.

I softly touch the petals of the lush lilac bush as I pass it, making my way to the opposite side of the garden, eager to find something to keep me occupied. The old apple tree is sporting new leaves. The prospect of harvesting apples and making apple pie in the fall actually brings a smile to my face. I grab my gloves and take care of the stinging nettles growing here and there, fix the bird house, until it has gotten darker and there’s literally nothing else to do for now. Another upside of doing things the Muggle-way: It takes longer which is great because you don’t have to go inside and face your pouting, bratty husband.

I’m honestly surprised when I step into the living room after a quick shower, and Draco is sitting there. On his own volition. He didn’t flee through the other door, so that’s good, but he doesn’t acknowledge me either. He’s sitting stiffly in the armchair in front of the huge bookshelf, an open book in his lap. Well then. Let’s ignore each other, I guess. Too bad the book I want is in a shelf slightly above Draco’s shoulder. Stormy grey eyes flick up when I approach him, my intent obvious. I quickly raise my arm to reach for a book behind Draco’s shoulder and he flinches. Actually _flinches_. I’m quite certain he knows I’d _never_ hit him, know he’d never hit me either, but this involuntary, purely instinctive response speaks volumes. His eyes look troubled before I grab the book and try to pretend that I didn’t see his initial reaction. I open the book and stare down at the letters, not reading a single word. My mind is racing. He _is_ sitting stiffly, rigidly. He just flinched even though he saw me coming and knew what I’d do. He tried to pick a fight to let off some steam. _Merlin, I’m so stupid._ I should be so much better at picking up those signs. The signs that the giant heap of shit that is Lucius Malfoy abused him again. I very much want to pull him into a hug, whisper sweet nothings into his ear, kiss it better. After giving Malfoy Sr. an earful, that is. Doubtful that Draco would want me to, though. Taking a shaky breath, I glance over to him. The soft, blond strands of his look like he has been running his fingers through them, there are bruise like shadows under his eyes, he looks like he has lost weight. I feel so bad for not noticing it sooner. There’s not much I can do short of asking him if he needs a hug, of course. _Do something_.

“Would you like me to make dinner?”, I pipe up sheepishly. A peace offering.

Draco looks at me like I just sprouted three heads, then clenches his jaw, his lips twitching. _He’s annoyed._ But… why?

“Save it, Lowe. No need to play housewife”, he answers derisively, making it sound like the ugliest, stupidest thing in the world to be – a house _wife_. Also calling me ‘Lowe’ again feels like getting hit by a jinx. Draco is not shooting to wound, apparently. In a way I know – or much rather: hope –, that he doesn’t mean it. That he’s only lashing out because he’s scared, vulnerable, and doesn’t want to be. In any case: It still hurts.

Without another word, partly because I’m not trusting myself to speak without crying right now –, I leave the room, blinking away the tears as I shut myself in my, or what used to be _our_ , bedroom.

After this incident (they do keep piling up), I barely see him for _days,_ bordering on weeks. The only sign that he actually lives here as well are the dishes in the sink, the slowly-but-surely vanishing treats I baked, sometimes a paper or a book on the table. Other than that? No show. I’m not very proud of it, but I _did_ stand in front of Draco's bedroom when I thought he was home – maybe only once, maybe several times… not important –, an ear pressed to the wooden door, listening. Nothing. Not knowing how he’s doing, _coping_ , is maddening. I remember his bruise-mottled chest, the look of pain in his eyes when we spent our last night together. The first and last time Draco let me see a glimpse of the real Draco, not the façade, the blasé mask, the bravado. So very broken, so very beautiful and resilient at the same time. Have I ever seen him smile? The thought pops up unbidden and makes me pause because… a genuine, broad, gummy, happy smile? The answer is a devastating: never. What might be equally awful is the fact that I don’t think he has seen a real one from me either.


	19. I got you, babe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one, again. I hope you can forgive me.
> 
> Much love, always.

It’s another week or so when my worries don’t let me sleep. I can count the encounters with Draco on one hand, and each time he looked worse, nothing like himself. Just a defeated look on his face that basically only consists of sharp angles now. Gaunt. I did try to approach him but each time I opened my mouth, he had fled the room. So here we are. It’s 4 am and I feel wide-awake. Sitting up, I glance outside to the calm landscape that’s still hiding in the twilight. The serenity helps. It makes me drowsy and when I’m finally burrowed in the sheets again, pressing my nose to the pillow that used to be Draco’s, even though it has long lost his smell, I hear _it_.

A scream.

It sounds like someone’s being tortured right now. My first thought is that Lucius somehow found a way around the magical ward that guards our home, abusing Draco in his own house now. I grab my wand and tiptoe carefully yet quickly to Draco’s room, not wanting to give Lucius an advantage. Draco’s screams turn into whimpers, saying “No”, “Stop it”, “Please don’t” over and over. Begging. Curse ready on my lips, I yank the door open, wand at the ready, actually also ready to do a round-house-kick.

The door hits the wall with a dull thud, revealing that there’s actually… no one except for Draco. Who’s lying in bed.

He’s tossing and turning on the bed, eyes squeezed shut but that doesn’t stop the constant flow of tears running down his face.

“Please don’t”, he sobs hoarsely, thrashing even more.

A nightmare. He’s having nightmares. It doesn’t take a genius what they’re about, I suppose.

My wand clatters to the floor as I hurry to his side, softly saying, well, chanting, his name in an effort to calm him somehow. I’m kneeling beside him on the mattress and hesitate. Are you supposed to wake someone from a nightmare? Is that harmful or helpful? I can’t remember. My mind is blank, every thought occupied by the heart wrenching sight in front of me. It’s probably only a few seconds before my brain complies, but it feels a _lot_ longer.

“Draco. Wake up. It’s a dream”, I finally beg, barely touching his forearm.

Without a warning, he wakes up with a start. He has gripped my wrist painfully tightly; wide, bloodshot eyes fixed on my face. Draco is breathing heavily, and I can almost hear his erratic heartbeat. A flicker of recognition flashes over his face, then my wrist is free again.

“What are you doing here?”, he rasps in an accusatory voice.

I almost scoff. Almost.

“I heard … – You were having a nightmare”, I reply uneasily after a moment, wondering why he seems so upset that I heard him. As if he just remembers something, he growls and curses under his breath before he looks downright sheepish.

“I’m sorry, I forgot. I didn’t mean to bother you.”

 _What?_ “What?”

“Nothing. Go to bed.”

While his voice is indeed commanding, the shaky intakes of air and the fact that he barely seems to hold it together force me to stay.

“Draco, please…”, I whisper, not even sure what I’m begging for.

Silence and averted eyes.

“Is there anything I can do for you? Please don’t say you are fine when you are clearly not…”, I add, resting my palm on his bony shoulder before I squeeze it softly.

A choked-up noise can be heard at the gentle touch. I’m not sure if that was him or me, to be honest.

 _Alright. Maybe that’s what he needs now_ , I finally decide.

Gently, gingerly I cup his jaw, running my thumb over the short stubble. Some tension leaves his body instantly at the touch. Is he leaning into it or is my mind playing tricks on me?

“Scoot over.”

I’m not even sure we my courage came from, but there it is. _I said it_.

Reluctantly, Draco does as he’s told, making room for me beside him. The bed is smaller than the one in my – _our_ – bedroom, so it’s a relatively tight fit. I lay down, immediately turning to him with open arms, beckoning him to come closer.

It takes a few moments before he does, pressing his face in the crook of my neck and taking in a long, steadying breath. I hum contentedly and spread the comforter over us. My hand rests on the back of his neck, my thumb caressing the short strands there. Having him so close again reminds me of how much I missed this. _Him_. A few minutes go by.

“Do you feel better?”, I whisper as I’m stroking his broad back, careful not to add too much pressure to the possible bruises.

“Hm”, he replies, resting his forehead on my shoulder. So not fine yet, then.

“What is it?”

“I… I have been trouble sleeping. Nightmares.”

“Do you… remember what they are about?” _Smooth._

“Not really”, he coughs, clearly lying, “I cast _Quietus_ on the room so I wouldn’t disturb you.”

I feel my heart shatter into a thousand pieces. The thought alone that he spent days, maybe even _weeks_ on his own, battling nightmares, kills me. Because he didn’t want to _disturb_ me. I’m not sure I’m prepared to hear how long he did this, but I ask him anyway.

“Couple of weeks, I guess. It’s not that bad. Not every night.”

He says it like he just told me the most casual thing. My arms tighten around him on their own volition for a second. I want to tell him that it’ll be fine soon, that we can look into more powerful sleeping potions – although what he probably needs is a professional to help him work through the trauma if we’re being honest – because the empty Dreamless Sleep-potions on his bedside table don’t seem to do the trick anymore. What I say instead is, in a stupidly broken voice:

“Please don’t do this”, – to yourself, to me –, “I, um, I… If there’s anything I can do, anything at all, please tell me.”

It’s quiet for a while. I melt into him, accepting his silence even though I would have preferred an answer. For a while, I’m just running my hand over his back, hoping this comforts him. Within minutes, I’m half asleep.

“Stay”, Draco whispers then. I’m not sure if he wanted me to hear that. But I did.

And I do.


	20. Blueberry Hill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's almost 2.5k and mostly fluff, even quite hopeful if I may say so, although someone shows up who's not welcome... Can you guess who it is? ;-)
> 
> Much love, always.
> 
> P.S.: The title is a reference to Louis Armstrong's song.

It’s way later than usual when my eyes flutter open, but then again, I fell asleep around 4.30 am. It must be around 11 now, going by the angle of the sunrays hitting the floor. The room is too bright, downright flooded in sunshine. First now my brain goes online again – this is not my bedroom, and most importantly, I’m not alone. A mop of messy blond hair tickles my cheek while a long, firm body is melted into mine. _Right_. My insomnia, Draco’s nightmare. And now he’s still lying here with his face burrowed in the crook of my neck. I’m most definitely _not_ focussing on how nice it feels. I’m not. At all.

The fact that he cast a soundproofing charm on his room so I wouldn’t notice his distress still tugs at my heartstrings. Actively keeping me from this is a new level of hurt.

 _Weeks,_ he had said. No wonder Draco lost his appetite and barely slept. I glance down at his sleeping face, feeling warmth rush through my body at the sight because he looks well-rested (or _better_ -rested at least), no frown in place, a rosy flush on his cheeks. The bags under his eyes look less awful, too. I should have forced him to stay with me before, maybe babbling something about marital duty or so. If not-being-alone (I’m not _that_ stupid, I know it’s not me *per se* who’s responsible for his dreamless sleep) helps, I’ll volunteer.

 _(Y/n) Malfoy, née Lowe, always so selfless_. I chuckle to myself; I can’t help it. Does this count as ‘finding what’s funny in a horrible situation’? My thoughts come to a stop when Draco stirs. Okay, he’s not entirely awake yet. But the clock’s ticking. The anxiety-powered adrenaline that suddenly spikes almost makes me dizzy. I’m not sure how to handle this. All I want is to _not_ make it awkward, to _not_ make him dismiss this. If he recoils into his shell now, I fear it might be for good.

Draco seems to still be in the process of waking up, not yet lucid. It takes a couple of seconds until he’s fully aware who’s lying next to him and why that is. He tenses immediately.

Time to put on a show that would earn me one of those Muggle-Oscar-statue-things.

Feigning that I’m still asleep, I tighten my arms around him, fingertips accidentally grazing the sliver of soft skin above his pyjama pants. I nose at his hair, inhaling the addictive scent, and let out a content sigh. Is it a tad too much? Most definitely. What I still hope is that it lessens his own embarrassment. If that has to happen at my expense – fine by me. ~~At least I got to do this without feeling bad about it.~~

Miraculously, Draco relaxes a little. _100 points to Ravenclaw_.

I keep up the charade for a few moments before I pretend to wake up, stretching a little.

“Hey”, I murmur softly, rubbing my eye. Draco hums in return but doesn’t meet my eyes. I almost ask how he’s feeling and only keep myself from doing that in the last possible second. If there’s a question that will make him clam up again, it’s probably that one. So, something less risky. I finally settle on simply asking him if he slept well, still not wanting to let go of him.

“Yeah… thanks”, he chokes out. I can hardly believe my ears. Whether or not he thanked me for staying or for asking him might forever be a mystery, but nevertheless: Draco Malfoy _thanked_ me.

“Good”, I reply simply.

It’s a herculean task to make myself leave his arms, but I finally do it. Draco is still lying there, and his bedhead is _irresistible_. While I’m certain that my hair looks like a bird’s nest in the morning, it just works on him. He looks somewhere between extremely hot and soft and cuddly. The sight shouldn’t affect me as much as it does. No fair. Inappropriate, too.

“So, breakfast? Waffles? I’m feeling waffles”, I ramble, lean forward to brush an errant strand of blonde back from his face – I can’t help myself – as grey eyes watch me curiously, and then immediately leave the room.

I only throw on a sweater before making my way to the kitchen to take care of the promised breakfast (or, well, brunch since it’s almost midday). While the iron is heating up and I’m busy whisking the dough – we’ll be having blueberry waffles, of course –, Draco shuffles down the stairs. He has showered but his hair is still damp and uncharacteristically messy, and he is wearing slacks and a crisp shirt that is buttoned all the way up. I can’t help cocking an eyebrow at him. It’s a _Sunday_ and just us anyway.

“Are you expecting someone?” It’s pretty much what he said to me after our first night. _Oh, the irony._

He looks surprised at me, snacking on a few blueberries. It shouldn’t be such an endearing sight. _Get a grip, (y/n)._ After scrutinising me for a moment, he shakes his head.

“A bit formal for brunch at home, don’t you think?” I finally state, gesturing at my own outfit that is a whole lot more comfortable – a nightgown under an oversized sweater before rolling my eyes at his formal get-up. “Can’t you at least, I don’t know, open a button or two?”

Raising one eyebrow, something that looks like a smirk appears on his face. I don’t know what it was that’s the cause of his sudden good mood. Not complaining though. Draco takes a step closer, his eyebrow rising even higher. _Oh dear_. I’m playing with fire, aren’t I?

“Make me”, he deadpans.

I blush. Furiously. Going by the smug look on his face, this was the intended reaction. Before I can retort anything at all, maybe save my dignity, there’s a knock on the door.

The flirty ( _it was flirty, wasn’t it?_ ) atmosphere gone immediately. We aren’t expecting anyone, as far as I know.

“Can you get that? I kind of need to keep an eye on the waffles…”, I sigh, turning away from him. Way too disappointed that we were disturbed.

Draco does as he’s told – after rolling up his sleeves and actually opening two buttons, and I just blush even more –, and when he returns, I feel the blood draining from my face.

Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy are standing the doorway, impeccably dressed in all-black. _Holy fucking shit._ Kind of wish I wasn’t in my sleeping clothes now. I would sort of like to see this from their perspective – their son with dishevelled hair and a – for him – casual-ish outfit, me neither showered nor dressed, making waffles. It’s the epitome of domestic bliss. To an outsider, at least.

“Narcissa, Lucius. What a surprise.” I try my best to sound chipper even though I’m _so_ self-conscious right now, pulling at the hem of my nightgown, I’d rather shove them outside again, bolting the door right after.

“Hello (y/n). We were visiting friends nearby and figured we could stop here for tea”, Narcissa replies happily, eyeing the scene in front of her with barely concealed joy. All of her arranged-wedding-turning-into-a-picture-perfect-marriage-wet dreams must have come true right now. If only she knew.

“Mrs Malfoy”, Lucius sneers and fakes a bow. _Merlin, I hate him. And he has only said two words. This doesn’t bode well._

He looks as haughty as he always does, looking me up and down in a derisive way that makes me want to hide. I cast a glance at Draco whose posture has turned rigid again. He was so relaxed a few minutes ago, and so was I. I grit my teeth and send Draco’s parents a saccharine smile, offering that they could wait in the dining room for us while we get this brunch-thing ready.

“Draco, lend me a hand?”, I smile sweetly at him, hoping that keeping him from his asshole of a father is what he wants and needs right now. He just gives a sharp nod although the confusion is quite visible on his face. Lucius and Narcissa leave the kitchen then, and right away it feels easier to breathe.

“What do you want me to do?”

 _Hooooold on. Draco actually_ wants _to help out? That’s new._

“Nothing”, I whisper back, grinning lightly.

Draco frowns at me, clearly not getting it.

“Just wanted to keep you company”, I add, bumping his shoulder with mine. “I can’t speak for you, but I wouldn’t be overjoyed if _my_ parents showed up announced.”

This makes a tiny, tiny grin appear on his face. He doesn’t say anything, though.

“But actually – could you keep an eye on the waffles? I should change into something less comfortable.” So much for having a lazy Sunday, so much for trying to bond over brunch. Instead, it’s forced politeness and awkward conversations. Yay.

Draco nods his approval, so I rush upstairs, put on a nice (y/f/c) dress and matching shoes, fix my hair and makeup with a few handy spells. Within five minutes, I’m back in the kitchen. Draco, who has also smoothed back his hair and buttoned up his shirt again which is a _shame,_ is just taking out another perfectly browned waffle. Another hidden talent, perhaps? Somehow, he keeps on surprising me.

“Thank you”, I murmur as I step next to him, putting the teapot and cups on a tray.

I don’t get more than another nod from him, but he does help – again – by carrying the waffles, sirup, and whipped cream to where his parents are waiting for us. Lucius and Narcissa are next to each other, so I quickly take the seat across from Lucius before Draco can, probably out of a stupid sense of obligation. Or worse: fear. Lucius sends me a glare which I happily ignore as I am handing them tea and offer them a waffle.

Lucius eyes the food as if it personally offended him while Narcissa takes one for herself, and so do Draco and I. I put an obscene amount of whipped cream and sirup on mine which earns me a chuckle from Narcissa and, surprisingly, Draco.

“What? You know it tastes best this way”, I complain, nudging Draco playfully. _God, stop touching him_ , I scold myself. I pierce a waffle bite with my fork and pop it into my mouth, eyebrow raised at him.

“Whatever you say”, Draco grins back but the amount of said items _he_ uses isn’t much less than what I put on mine. I send him a smug grin and he actually rolls his eyes at me. _Merlin, I missed this sassy side of him_.

Lucius scoffs. It’s barely audible but I hear it. And so must Draco because he tenses instantly.

_Asshole, asshole, asshole._

I smile at Narcissa and ask her what they have been up to just so I can deescalate this situation. Anything to keep Lucius from interacting with Draco. Apparently, it was a good question – she just starts talking and doesn’t seem to stop. I nod along at appropriate times, agree when necessary. Even Lucius adds a snide comment every now and then, but at least they aren’t jabs at Draco for once. That doesn’t stop him from sitting there stiffly. It hurts to think that he’s just waiting for a hurtful comment to be directed at him. Like the sword of Damocles hanging above him. Without thinking, I reach over and place a hand on his thigh, hoping it will comfort him. When he tenses even more, I’m ready to curse myself for doing it, ready to snatch my hand back, but then his muscles relax a little. I glance at him and find that he’s already looking at me, an unreadable expression on his face. I hope the blush on my face doesn’t look as bad as it feels. Before it gets worse, Narcissa pipes up again who’s blissfully ignorant of the moment between her son and me.

“Will you join us for dinner tonight? It’s been so _long_ since we last had you!”

Now it’s my turn to scoff under my breath. The last dinner was a month ago, and the reason why we’re not meeting up until next month is because Lucius couldn’t behave himself.

“I’m sorry, mother, but we actually have plans.”

Draco’s immediate reply surprises me, and it takes _a lot_ not to whip my head around to look at him quizzically. I’m certain we _don’t_ have plans, but I manage to nod along.

“Pray tell what’s more important than meeting your parents for dinner”, Lucius drawls in a too soft voice, clearly challenging Draco who in turn tenses again. _I hate Lucius. Hate, hate, hate._

“Don’t be like this, Lucius”, Narcissa chastises him and smiles understandingly. Who would have guessed that I’d grow to like her so much? “Perhaps you can come over another time soon, though? (Y/n), you should owl your parents, too. A family dinner.”

I nod along again (have I gone mute now?) although the prospect of another, unplanned dinner makes my skin crawl, and squeeze Draco’s thigh softly, hoping he perceives it as encouragement.

“That would be great, mother, father.”

The rest of the impromptu brunch is barely tolerable. It’s just so _exhausting_ to keep up with his parents, but Lucius mostly. Because of course it is. In all the time I’ve known him, he hasn’t said one nice word to his son. Not _one._ Backhanded compliments at best. I focus mostly on the waffle in front of me, not letting go of Draco’s thigh. At this point, I’m not sure if I’m comforting him or myself this way.

When they finally leave after an hour, we both release a collective sigh of relief.

“Well. That wasn’t very enjoyable”, I mutter. Draco hums his agreement.

I’m not sure if Draco needs or wants company right now, so I go back to the dining room to take care of the dishes and the general mess left there. I don’t want to smother him. Once that’s done, I change back into a much more comfortable sundress, grab a book, and find a nice, shaded place in the garden that’s in full bloom now. I lean back into the recliner, breathing in the sweet-smelling, pleasantly warm air. Peace at last. When Draco comes out into the garden later, settling in with a book himself, I only send a tiny smile his way that he almost – _almost_ – returns.

Maybe we’re out of the woods.


	21. Daylight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To ease y'all into the weekend: Have this chapter that's almost 5k long and contains it all – angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, smut.  
> Things are looking up: It's golden like daylight. For now. (Where are my Swifties at?)
> 
> Much love, always.

I never thought I’d say this, but Draco and I settle into something akin to a routine. After making him promise not to use _Quietus_ on his room again – to which he begrudgingly agreed after some begging and coaxing –, the air feels lighter. It’s nice to not be ignored, to walk freely around the house without dreading a spontaneous encounter and permanently walking on eggshells. Draco must feel a similar way because he looks less frowny, better rested, actually eats dinner with me on occasion. It looks like he gained some weight again as well. While it’s no domestic bliss in the traditional sense, and the marriage still being nothing more than an arrangement, it works nicely for us. Since discovering that Draco actually does take comfort in being touched, I feel better about occasionally brushing by him, hands touching when I hand him something and vice versa. At most dinners we have with our parents, it has basically become normal to rest my hand on his thigh, providing moral support and grounding us both. A fact that didn’t go unnoticed, of course – my mother and Narcissa looked over the moon, nearly gushing about how sweet their children are to each other. Lucius’s displeased facial expression said the opposite, but neither me nor Draco cared for it. I felt a burst of pride when Draco barely tensed at all – while I was softly squeezing his thigh, of course. It can’t be a coincident that the nightmares progressively get fewer and fewer, too; it might also have to do with the fact that Draco visits his father less since Lucius seems to be too busy taking care of one business or the other. It’s all very hush-hush, but I pay it no mind. I am happy for this development of Draco’s though, obviously, but – and that’s a selfish thought, I know it – I kind of miss having an excuse to crawl into bed and cuddle up with him. Because that hasn’t changed: the sleeping arrangements. We still bid each other goodnight and return to our respective rooms. On more than one occasion, I wanted to ask him if he wanted to join me for the night, craving the intimacy, but ultimately didn’t dare to. This fragile balance, this truce, is too precious to risk it.

– – –

This is how the months go by. After an uncommonly warm summer, a very unremarkable 19th birthday for me and 20th for Draco – although I did make him his favourite pie (with apples from the tree in our garden!) that we ate in companionable silence – and an equally lowkey wedding anniversary if you ignore the family dinner we had to attend, it’s almost October now. And back with the turning leaves is the rain, of course. It has been pouring for _hours_ now, and I have made myself comfortable in front of the fireplace.

The second Draco comes home, I notice that something is just _off._ He looks flushed, his eyes glassy.

“Are you alright?”, I look up from the book in my lap.

“Fine”, he answers through gritted teeth and starts to open cupboards and drawers, clearly looking for something specific. “Are we out of Pepperup potion?”

A cold. That’s what it must be.

“Oh, maybe. I’m not sure”, I answer without looking up.

“You’re not _sure_? What the hell are you even doing all day when you can’t even keep an eye on stuff like that?”, he snaps and mutters something that sounds a lot like “fucking useless”.

 _He’s sick and tired, literally_ , I try to remind myself, so I don’t lash out too.

“I’m sorry, Draco. I will get some first thing in the morning, alright? I think I have some painkillers and cold medicine that you could take though.”

“ _Muggle_ medicine?”, he snarls and fixes his furious gaze on me. I had almost forgotten how scary Angry Draco looks.

“Yes. And it will help. Go take a shower, lie down. I’ll be with you in a bit.” I try to keep my voice calm, even though Draco’s behaviour is pissing me off immensely.

But a miracle happens, and he does as he’s told, grumbling and cursing under bis breath, of course, but he does it.

I take my sweet time finishing the chapter before I make a cup of ginger tea and grab some painkillers and the trusty cold medicine I had discovered a while back. Draco’s actually in bed, his trademark death stare in place. I bite back a smile because it’s just so _Draco_. Grey eyes snap onto mine and although he probably intends to look frightening, he looks like a pouty child.

“Here.”

He downs the medicine begrudgingly before accepting the cup of hot tea.

“What is this?” He eyes the cup warily, sniffing it, clearly suspicious.

“It’s ginger tea, Draco. What do you think? Me trying to finally poison you? After a year?”

I roll my eyes and smile softly. He actually huffs out a laugh and takes a sip, grimacing at the apparently unfamiliar taste.

“Didn’t say it would taste great”, I grin and lie down on top of the covers next to him, placing the book on my lap. Draco freezes next to me.

“What… what are you doing?”

His voice sounds uncharacteristically panicky, unsure of how to respond to me seeking out his company on my own volition, not because he just woke up from a nightmare. I guess I can’t blame him.

“Keeping you company”, I smile and continue reading, ignoring how hot his gaze on my face feels.

It takes half an hour before the painkillers kick in and his breathing gets less laboured. Draco has even finished his ginger tea – _oh wonder_ –, and even though it might seem like nothing and his eyes are closed anyway, he’s actually facing me.

“How are you feeling?”, I whisper and stroke back a strand of hair that has fallen into his hot forehead. My hand freezes, realising that I didn’t even think about what I was about to do before I did it. _What a beautiful train of thought, so eloquent._ In any case: It still feels so natural, and I don’t know how to feel about it. Draco unexpectedly comes to the rescue, though, by sighing at the feeling of my cool fingers against his forehead.

“Better”, he admits and inches a tiny bit closer. I bite my lip and try to ignore my pounding heart. _Just do it, he can’t fight you now anyway_ , the cheeky, reckless part of me says. And who am I to argue?

“Good.” My fingers end up in his hair again, carding through the oh-so-soft strands and coaxing a soft sigh from his lips while I pretend to read. I’m way too aware of my ministrations to even understand a single syllable. After a minute or two, I look down at him and practically feel and hear my heart shatter at the sight of his blissed-out face. I wonder how long it has been since he had last been taken care of, not only comforted – or if growing up in the Malfoy household _ever_ made him experience something like this. I doubt it.

 _All or nothing_. I put away my book, carefully placing the bookmark, and get up. Draco lifts his head immediately.

“Where are you going?” His rough voice sends shivers down my spine. He’s actually _complaining_ that I’m leaving the bed. This is progress.

“Just give me five minutes. I’ll be right back”, I smile softly, catching his eyes. With a slight blush on his cheeks, maybe not only because of the fever, Draco nods and pulls the comforter a little higher.

After having changed into my pyjamas and a trip to the bathroom, I return to his room. Draco is still awake, if barely. It seems that me being away for less than 10 minutes has made him put up his guards again, not acknowledging my return. Not acknowledging that we’re going to share a bed again.

“Hey”, I whisper, lifting the comforter to get into bed. No reply. Since a good offensive is half the job (right?), I minimise the distance and carefully put my hand on his shoulder. Draco makes a non-committal noise, not even opening his eyes. Still better than him pulling away.

“Do you need another pill? More tea?” My fierce overprotectiveness doesn’t hold back tonight.

Whatever he mumbles against his pillow is intelligible.

“What did you say?”, I huff out a laugh and run my hand from his shoulders up into his hair again, unable to stop myself.

“Said I didn’t need anything”, he clarifies gruffly before burying his face in the pillow again. My stomach drops. I force myself to remove my hand from his hair and nod to myself even though he can’t even see it.

_Don’t be disappointed! Just… don’t! This is more than you got in all those months being married to him. Be grateful._

I’m not grateful, though. I’m famished, longing to touch him. I’d never admit it out loud, but somehow this weird, wonderful man has become way too important to me.

“Okay. Good night.”

Before I can turn away and pretend to fall asleep, pretend not to be disappointed, his hand blindly searches after mine. His fingers close softly around my wrist.

“Didn’t say you should stop.”

Those mumbled words set my heart on fire, goosebumps exploding across my skin. My heart soars. Legitimately _soars._ I’m very glad that Draco can’t see the stupid, goofy smile that has materialised on my face. I feel positively giddy and really can’t help chuckling a little at his reply.

“Just because you’re sick”, I tease him and see how one corner of his mouth lifts up in a tiny smile. Not a smirk. A smile.

And so we lie there, close enough to feel each other’s body heat. My hand in his hair, finger-combing the strands, scratching his scalp occasionally. The tiny blissful sounds Draco makes will be the death of me someday, I’m sure.

It’s perfect.

It’s just another casual day of waking up in Draco’s arms, it seems. He seems asleep so I relish in the closeness – limbs tangled, my face pressed to his firm chest. His heartbeat is a comforting thud under my ear. Without thinking, I breathe in his clean, comforting smell ( _why and how does he always smell so good?_ ) and sigh, one hand going into his soft strands again.

Apparently, he’s awake because the second I let my fingers graze over his bedhead which I totally do _not_ find adorable _at all_ , the pressure of his hands on my body intensifies. His voice is still rough and deep with sleep.

“I feel obliged to tell you that I don’t feel sick anymore, though.” The jest in his voice is loud and clear, I don’t even need to see his face to know that a smirk adorns it right now. _That beautiful asshole._

“Shut up”, I murmur groggily and teasingly pull at the strand I’ve been finger-combing, intending to punish him for this sassiness.

An actual _groan_ leaves his mouth which I’m pretty sure he’d rather went unheard, but we both freeze. The only sound is the rain dropping against the window planes, and a sharply indrawn breath. I’m not even sure if it’s mine or his at this point. The seconds tick by.

I’m very much aware of his racing heart and how he tries to disengage himself, how he wants to flee.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I will myself to not let this beautiful yet barely-there thing between us get ruined by this. Not by this. There are forces we can’t control, like our parents, their stupid pureblood politics and sky-high expectations, but this is something I can handle. That we can handle.

I press closer to Draco’s warm body, effectively stopping him from leaving the bed, and release the soft strand I’ve still been holding, only to brush my fingers through his hair again. I let my forehead fall on the juncture between his neck and shoulder, aware of how tense he still is.

“Draco, relax, please.” My voice is barely audible, but he hears me anyway. A shuddering breath leaves him a millisecond later, and he _does_ let go of some of the tension in his muscles. He’s still trying to keep his distance, and I want nothing more than to be tangled up with him again. I feel too safe in his arms not to want this.

So in another rush of courage, I let my legs glide between his, sighing contentedly once I’ve managed to do this, wiggling a little closer.

“(Y/n)…”, he just says, and his voice seems strained. I try not to make a sound of frustration.

Is Draco really set on keeping his distance? I thought he liked this. He even _begged_ me to keep stroking his hair a few hours ago. My thoughts run wild, and I’m very much prepared to give him a piece of my mind when I feel something hard press against my hip. Oh. _Oh._

Suddenly wide awake, I feel how hot my face gets, how erratically my heart is beating. How much I _want_ him.

Neither of us seem to expect the low chuckle that leaves my mouth. A bit involuntarily, yes, but the implicit statement stays the same: This is perfectly fine. We just wake up together now, couples do this, boners are totally okay. Draco feels like a brick wall beside me now and considering how we usually kept at least a little distance, never talking about the fact that when either of us wakes, the other is barely a hair’s breadth away – I can even understand his reluctance now.

“Draco”, I whisper into the silence of the room and let my hand rest on his nape, my fingers rubbing soothing circles into his tense muscles, “relax”.

He swallows audibly, then he – finally! – lets his fingertips glide under my top, softly stroking the small of my back. Maybe I should be embarrassed by the pleased sound that leaves my throat, but I couldn’t care less. Not now. So what – Draco likes when I tug at his hair, I like it when he finally succumbs to his softer side. A grin appears on my face at this realisation. What a pair we make.

My hand glides into his mussed-up hair again, my fingernails lightly scratching his scalp. The pressure against my hip intensifies. Draco lets out a sigh, halfway to a groan, his breath hot on my neck.

I angle my head up, lips brushing against his unusually stubbly jaw before I reach my intended destination and press a kiss onto his plush lips, morning breath be damned. When I pull back, his eyes search mine. The grey is barely visible, just a light ring around his blown pupils. For the first time in a long while, he looks unguarded, open, approachable. He’s so beautiful like this. I feel my heart clench because for a second, three words threatened to spill out of my mouth that have no business being said. I’m certain I shouldn’t even _think_ them either. To keep myself from saying something stupid, I just give Draco a soft smile before I lie down on my back, pulling him with me. His lips find mine again, and it feels amazing. There are no other words for it. The pressure of his body against mine, lips and tongues fighting for dominance as they always are, the rising sun providing a soft background light.

Draco murmurs my name between kisses while his hands roam over my body. I tug at the hem of his shirt, desperately wanting to touch him too. After a moment of hesitation, he pulls it over his head, revealing soft but still lightly bruised skin. I let my eyes wander across his torso, feeling a bit better when it’s obvious that it’s been some time since Lucius last threw a fit. When I meet Draco’s eyes again, he looks so unsure. So vulnerable. Where did snarky, witty, infuriatingly cocky Draco Malfoy go?

“Come here”, I whisper. After a second, he obeys and lowers himself again. I try my best to keep my touches soft and gentle, not wanting to hurt him more. Even like that, his smooth, warm skin feels like perfection. The more I touch him, the more the need to do it increases. It’s a losing game.

Draco is busy nipping at my neck, sucking bruises onto the places he can reach.

“Possessive much?”, I say breathlessly and chuckle, when he adorns my collarbone with another hickey, just because he can.

“Yeah, I am”, he finally mumbles, looking up for second. “Got a problem with that, Malfoy?”

My heart stops, my lungs collapse, my brain screeches to a halt. Malfoy _._ Not Lowe. _Malfoy._ Going by the faint blush suddenly creeping up Draco’ neck, he didn’t intend it either, didn’t mean to say it out loud. Totally overwhelmed, I just crush my lips onto his again, trying to convey what I can’t – and shouldn’t – say out loud. Draco seems to be doing the same thing.

“Draco, I need you.”

It just slipped out yet I don’t regret it because the growl leaving his mouth is deliciously obscene.

The hand that isn’t buried in his hair slowly makes its way to his pyjama pants, softly running my fingers down his happy trail before gingerly cupping his cock through the luxurious material of his pants. It is only my second time doing, well, _this,_ and the first time groping another person’s genitals, so I do feel a tad awkward, unsure if I’m doing this right.

The sound Draco makes is reassuring though. A deep, guttural moan sends shivers down my spine, and make me increase the pressure of my hand palming him. He bucks his hips, panting heavily against my neck. Encouraged by his wrecked sounds I pull down his pants far enough to grab his shaft, tentatively moving my fingers up and down. I let my thumb swipe across the head that’s already leaking pre-come and return to moving along the length of his cock again, experimentally increasing both the pressure and the speed. Draco nearly sobs, murmuring nonsense into my ear. It’s more or less an ongoing stream of praises, and I’d lie if I said it didn’t make me proud to turn him into this nonsensical mess. The way he furrows his brows, eyes closed, mouth agape – I can’t stop staring.

His cock feels heavy in my hand, twitching every so often which makes me think he’s getting closer. His arms start to shake too, still balancing his weight on his elbows, careful not to crush me. I let go of his cock, eliciting a needy whine from him. I pull back the sheets entirely, suddenly feeling the need to look at him. _Every_ part of him. Truly, I don’t have any material, no handy folder of assorted dicks for a comparison but Draco’s cock is beautiful. Now, it’s flushed red, a slight curve upwards, long but not too thick, and it feels like hot steel covered in velvet as I wrap my hand around it again.

“Fuck… “, Draco exhales at the contact and starts to mindlessly pet whatever body part of mine he can reach. Finally, finally, finally dipping a finger, then two, into my slick folds, groaning praises into my ear, “I need to be in you.”

 _Yes, yes, yes._ I nod frantically, discarding my clothes in a hurry. Draco does the same until he’s kneeling in front of me with his impressive erection standing up proudly, grabbing my thighs and pulling me closer. A surprised gasp leaves me at being manhandled like this. _Fuck, this is hot_.

Without warning, he dips his head and attaches his mouth to my clit.

“HolyfuckingshitDraco!!!” It comes out in one word and as a half-shout, barely intelligible, and the bastard actually _chuckles_. It feels amazing, there are no words for it. His hot tongue laves and sucks and nibbles and I’m close to losing my mind at the previously unknown pleasure. My hand is burrowed in his hair, pulling him even closer, tugging at the strands, then petting it softly. The loud moans that leave my mouth fill the room and when Draco actually starts to apply more suction, more pressure, I _scream_ , eyes rolling back into my head as _waves and waves and waves_ of pleasure course through my body.

With a satisfied, smug face he emerges again, his hair sticking up in every which way after me desperately pulling it. His cockhead presses against my entrance and every witty remark I wanted to say is just… gone. My mind has gone blank, noting nothing but the delicious feeling of being impaled by his dick, centimetre by centimetre. I reach up and pull him in for searing kiss, tasting myself on his tongue which shouldn’t be a turn-on, but totally is. I don’t think I ever felt this much desperation in one kiss, and it does things to me. I bury my hands in his hair again, smashing our lips together. When Draco pauses, probably to give me more time to adjust, I buck up and pull him close, effectively impaling myself to the hilt. A string of curses leaves Draco’s lips at my action and then he just sets a deliciously hard pace. His prominent hipbones digging into my skin, the firm grip on my waist anchoring me where I am.

“Fuck, (y/n)”, he groans when I clench around him and do it again and again and again.

Another desperate kiss follows the other until he slams into me one more time, spending himself with his head thrown back. When I look up at him, he’s trying to regain his breath, looking flushed and absolutely, devastatingly handsome. _This is my doing._

“You are beautiful like this”, I finally admit huskily, pulling him down again.

Draco actually _blushes_ and hides his face in the crook of my neck, staying there for a few breaths. His cock is already slowly softening when he pulls out, rolling onto his back, eyes closed. His cock looks slick and wet and weirdly enticing, even though it’s covered in both our juices. Following the weird impulse I just got, I lean forward to swipe my tongue across the head, tasting the salty liquid and myself. It’s not bad, actually. At the unexpected contact, Draco almost jack-knifes, staring at me with wide eyes.

“I wanted to know how it tastes”. _Wanted to know how_ you _taste._ I shrug sheepishly although I do feel a bit weird now, mildly embarrassed. I just really hope he didn’t dislike it. I grab his discarded shirt to remove the sticky liquid, no wand handy. Not the perfect solution, but it’s alright for now. And it is a great excuse to not look at my husband whose aesthetically very pleasing cock I apparently just licked for the thrill of it.

His eyes are still on me, following each and every moment, as if seeing me for the first time.

“You’ll be the death of me”, Draco finally says, taking the shirt out of my hand, tossing it across the room. Ok, maybe he _did_ like it.

He reaches out for me and I gladly accept the nonverbal invitation, snuggling close. Draco’s hands pull me even closer; his lips brush my forehead before he rests his cheek on my crown. A content sigh escapes him. After a minute or so, our heartbeats have slowed down and while I like the closeness, I do feel a bit too sticky and sweaty now. When I start to remove myself from Draco, he mumbles his disagreement.

“Draco, I really need to shower”, I huff out a laugh, sitting up.

“You really need to stay here”, he grumbles but removes his arm, instantly pulling the comforter over his head. So not a morning person. I can’t believe I’ve never realised it about him up until now. I’m sure there are a lot of other things that I’m not aware of as of yet. The thought of finding out more is oddly thrilling.

I’m still following through with my plan and take a shower, enjoying the warmth, relaxing, letting the fact that I just had sex with Draco Malfoy sink in. It wasn’t just good. It was mind-blowing, I wasn’t seeing stars but _galaxies_. And he enjoyed it, too. I’m so close to pinching myself because there’s no way this isn’t a dream. It’s too good to be true.

While I have accepted in the last ten minutes or so that it actually *did* happen, my euphoria has turned into anxiety. If he shuts me out again, I don’t know what I’ll do. I put on soft clothes for lounging around and make a detour to the kitchen to fetch us some tea.

When I return, Draco is lying on his stomach, limbs spread out wide. Half-asleep it seems. The morning light is dancing on his broad back and all I want to do is kiss every centimetre of it and run a finger down his spine. Putting the tray on the bedside table, I sit down next to him, softly stroking his cheek. Draco cracks an eye open, ~~looking adorable~~ pouting at me because I woke him. I chuckle lowly and brush a strand from his forehead.

“You still have a fever “, I whisper, concern lacing my voice. I feel so bad about not noticing it earlier. I’m not sure if the, um, overexertion from what we just did was counterproductive or not.

Draco mumbles something, turning his face so he can burrow it in his pillow again.

Thankfully, I left some of the painkillers in the adjoining bathroom and put one with a glass of water on the table. It’s not easy to move his leaden limbs aside but once I’ve managed that, I lift the covers and make myself comfortable again. This time _not_ overthinking it. Since he doesn’t turn around, I kind of end up spooning him. My arm curls around his waist on its own volition.

 _Since when was this_ so _easy? Just following my instincts?_

“Take another painkiller soon, will you?”

I can’t help placing tiny kisses over the back of his neck, nosing at the soft strands.

Draco’s shuddering breath as he hums his agreement can be heard in the quiet room. Without a warning, he turns around in my arms.

His hair looks ridiculously tousled, and I can’t help chuckling at the sight. Draco cocks an eyebrow at me but there is a glint in his eye.

“Nothing. Your hair just looks, um, very nice this morning”, I reply cheekily and card my fingers through the strands, smoothing them down a little. A smile tugs at his lips, and I feel ready to burst with joy.

“Of course you would say that. If I’m not mistaken, this is your doing”, he drawls smoothly, soft velvety grey eyes boring into mine.

My face feels like it’s on fire. Yes. It _is_ my doing. Suddenly I’m way too aware of the fact that there is a very naked, very glorious body close to mine right now. I clean my throat awkwardly and just roll my eyes at him, unsure what to reply. Suddenly, soft lips are pressed against mine in a chaste kiss, setting off the millions of butterflies fluttering madly in my stomach. I cradle the back of his head, pulling him in. If I died right now, I’d die a happy woman.

When Draco pulls back, he hits me with an actual smile (a _smile!_ ) that could light up a dungeon.

_Merlin, I’m so gone on him._

Later I can finally convince him to take a shower. When he emerges from the bathroom, my mouth goes very, very dry: Draco is only wearing a towel around his narrow hips, his hair damp. There are water drops running down his muscular frame and I just can’t help staring, taking in every detail.

“Enjoying the view?”, Draco grins smugly.

“Yeah”, I blurt out dreamily without thinking, making us both blush.

In my defense: It is nearly impossible to form a coherent thought when a nearly naked Draco walks by, let alone think through what you’re about to say. Especially when memories of said body above yours, writhing in pleasure, pop into your head unbidden.

Draco actually looks flustered, rubbing the back of his neck as if he’s embarrassed, and shaking his head. I bite my lip and shoot him an apologetic smile, shrugging. He turns even redder.

When I get up and leave the room to fix us something to eat at last, Draco is standing with his back to me, looking for something to wear. I can’t help running my fingers over the small of his back as I leave the room, smiling to myself when he hisses and curses something that sounds a lot like my name.

I’m standing in front of the stove, a stupid, giddy smile on my face. _Bliss._ That’s what it is.

There are worse ways to start the day, I’m sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?


	22. I Think He Knows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, friends! 
> 
> While successfully ignoring much more pressing work-stuff, I wrote 4.3k instead. Can't help it. I like this fic too much. And I absolutely *thrive* on your kudos and comments – I literally squealed when I saw that it's now 200+ kudos!
> 
> I proudly present the fluffiest fluff I have *ever* written although there is some angst mixed into it. Gotta enjoy it while it lasts. :-)  
> Blaise Zabini and Felix Rosier (yep, that’s a reference to my other fic) make an appearance, too. I just have a soft spot for both of them in my heart. (‘Harold Bulstrode’ is made up by the way.) The moral of this is: Give people the benefit of a second chance, I think.
> 
> In the endnote you’ll find some links to the outfits etc. in case you’re interested in that.
> 
> Much love, always.

After that glorious morning, it feels like some switch has been flipped because we can barely keep away from each other anymore. There is morning sex (a tradition now), shower sex (slippery in the best way), bathtub sex ( _so_ relaxing), rough sex that has me whimpering his name, slow in-front-of-the-fireplace-sex (the way his blonde hair and grey eyes look in the firelight somehow does me in every time), quickies, sensual and soft handjobs that leave him speechless, and on one very memorable morning I woke up with his head between my thighs. And the icing on the cake: Draco has moved into the Master bedroom again. I really, really can’t complain. While he still has his snappy moments and seeks out the solitude at times, his overall mood has improved.

And like I suspected – hoped – I’m slowly but surely getting to know the _real_ Draco. Adding to the list that up until now mostly consisted of his love for anything containing blueberries and dislike for bitterness, the tiny micromovements that are a sure-fire way to knowing how he actually feels, and that he is _not_ a morning person, I’ve found out more: While he loves having his hair stroked, pressing a kiss to his nape, just below the hairline, turns him into mush, relaxes him instantly. So that’s what I’ve been doing, religiously, whenever I pass him. Draco actually waits in anticipation now when he hears me approach and it’s even more fun _not_ to do it then, hearing him mutter a complaint. He also likes being the little spoon on occasion, although I’m certain he would never admit it out loud and always acts like it happens accidentally. _Dork._

Whenever he’s in a bad mood, a look at his outfit confirms it – shirt always buttoned up, slacks, suit jacket, hair combed back. I feel like this is some sort of armour of his; a flawless, impeccable façade protecting him from the world. And I’ve also learned that it’s best to give him some space whenever I see him like this. In the end, Draco always opens up again when he has worked through whatever is bothering him, either by wordlessly sitting down close to me or by actually pulling me in a hug in a silent apology. Not to mention that I’m-sorry-for-shutting-you-out-sex is so tender and soft that I’m always on the verge of saying something very stupid, very lifechanging.

I’ve just put away the pregnancy-protection potion that has to be taken once a month and put it back into the cabinet, when an owl flies through the open window, dropping an ivory envelope on the table. Curiously, I inspect it – it’s relatively cheap paper, the embossed crest slightly off-center. It’s clearly a wedding invitation but who would send out something in this state? (My grandmother must have possessed me for a few seconds to make that thought possible.) When I open it, I can’t help but snort. Loudly. It’s _Pansy Parkinson’_ s wedding. Draco who has entered the kitchen looks at me quizzically. I waft the invitation in the air, still amused.

“Give it”, he says and pulls the card from my fingers. He huffs out a laugh and almost doubles over when he gleefully states that Pansy Parkinson is getting married to Harold Bulstrode.

“Who?” I have never heard that name before and don’t really get what’s so funny about it.

“That’s Millicent Bulstrode’s _younger_ brother. Family’s a train wreck, doesn’t deserve to call itself pureblood if you ask me”, he explains haughtily and sounds an awful lot like his father right this second. Changing his views on some things proves harder than I had feared. But it’s honest work.

“Parkinson must be so pissed off that it took so long to find someone and then it turns out to be Bulstrode”, Draco adds and cackles, barely containing the look of schadenfreude on his face.

“Don’t be so mean”, I reply weakly. I do not like Pansy at all, I haven’t forgotten about her outburst after our engagement had been announced, but this seems a little harsh.

“Why not? The not-so-virgin-bride and the family’s idiot get hitched. That’s comedy gold!”

 _Not-so-virgin-bride_. I’ve never given much thought to the fact that Draco had his fair share of liaisons at Hogwarts, before we got married, but now that this particular box of Pandora has been opened, I have to ask. I just have to.

“So, um, did you get into Pansy’s panties?”, I try to ask as nonchalantly as I can, fiddling with the envelope to not seem too invested in his answer, and fail miserably.

Draco’s face softens for a second, grasping my hand in his and giving it a comforting squeeze.

“Once, yes. Doesn’t hold a candle next to you, though.”

His hot breath tickles as he whispers those words into my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. I’m not sure how good I feel about being compared to her because of our sexual _prowess_ , it seems a little degrading. Am I not a little _more_ than a good lay? Or am I until he finally gets sick of me and finds someone better? I feel bile rising in my throat.

“What do you say? Want to attend and see Parkinson’s miserable face when she sees us?”

Draco’s questions pull me out of my miserable overthinking spiral. I clear my throat, hoping my voice will sound just fine now.

“Merlin, you are insufferable”, I huff at last, turning my head to press a kiss onto his lips. “Fine.”

A month later, it’s time. I’m almost ready, I just need to put on the dark red lipstick I had picked up yesterday. Before I go downstairs where Draco certainly is already waiting for me, tapping his foot impatiently since I’m a little late, I cast a final glance at the mirror: My hair (smooth waves, old Hollywood-style) and makeup (understated except for the bold red lip and matching nails) look great, the emerald-green dress hugs my figure nicely while the silver heels lengthen it. The silver clutch and earrings complement the outfit perfectly. Even though I’m not a vain person, I have to admit that I clean up nicely. At least Draco doesn’t have to be embarrassed to have me by his side tonight.

Draco in formal wear is no news, of course, but seeing him standing there with his back to me, the expensive cloak hugging his muscular frame, makes my heart flutter. I almost gasp when he turns around. He’s wearing a three-piece-suit in black with a crisp white shirt underneath. The material of the jacket and the waistcoat is jacquard with a floral and crown pattern. He looks elegant, sophisticated. A smile on his face, he looks at me and his jaw actually _drops_. I feel myself blush, 100% flustered, and avert my gaze.

“Fuck, (y/n)… You look beautiful. Exquisite.”

I blush even harder and chuckle nervously, straightening the lapels of his jacket just so I have something to do except stand there like a moron.

“Stop it, Draco. But I have to admit that you look… handsome, too.”

There _is_ a faint blush on his cheeks now. No denying it. _Merlin, he’s adorable_. Thanks to the heels I don’t need to stand on my tiptoes to reach his mouth and kiss him softly. I grab my cloak and fasten it around my shoulders. It is chilly outside after all.

“One more thing before we apparate though.”

Draco takes something out of his suit pocket. It’s an oblong velvet box and when he pops it open, there’s a delicate bracelet gleaming at me. I look from the bracelet to Draco and back again. A gift. For me. My heart picks up the pace, thumping against my ribcage.

“May I?” His voice is unusually hoarse. I’m too overwhelmed by the gesture and just nod dumbly.

Gentle fingers place the bracelet around my right wrist, clasping it shut. I lift my arm to my eyes to look at it more closely.

_Oh Merlin. Are these… No. What?_

“Are those… blueberry twigs?” My voice sounds so wobbly even to my own ears. Draco nods, an unsure expression on his face.

Blueberry twigs – not only referring to the many blueberry treats I baked and he ate in record speed, but also symbolising optimism and confidence in the future, eternity. If he purposely made the choice…

_Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry._

_I love you._ “Thank you”, I whisper, tears threatening to spill out.

Draco cups my face in his warm hands and presses a gentle kiss to my forehead. I nearly sob.

“Wouldn’t want to mess up that lipstick of yours”, he explains, eyes twinkling.

“It’s kiss-proof”, I chuckle teary-eyed.

“That’s very, very good to know”, Draco drawls and grins devilishly before he takes my hand in his and we apparate to Pansy’s wedding, the pretentious, over-priced gift basket in tow.

Pureblood wedding rules are something I’ll never grasp entirely but gazing over the people gathered in the medium-sized castle now makes me realise that this is more like a Hogwarts-reunion than like our wedding. Sure, this might also have to do with the fact that our wedding was a _bit_ more prestigious, our families a _tad_ more important, the budget probably a _little_ higher. It’s not even the ceremony, ‘only’ the reception. No wonder that neither my nor Draco’s parents are here – not that I’m complaining. What I could complain about is the fact that most of the attendees are former Slytherin-house members and I haven’t forgotten their feelings toward me and especially towards me marrying Draco.

“Merlin, this is like the worst Slytherin-reunion ever…”, said husband mumbles and I can’t help chuckling forlornly because _he_ should be the one at ease here.

“I’ll take care of our cloaks. Good luck finding our seats.”

After having given him my cloak, I just stand there a little lost before I wander through the crowds, casting glances at the table name signs. At a table quite not that far away from Pansy and Harold’s table – no surprises here –, I sigh with relief when I see our names next to each other. I let my gaze flicker to the not exactly impressive table decoration – the colour scheme being orange and turquoise –, and gladly accept the glass of prosecco an attendant in ill-fitting clothes gives me. I take a long sip, sighing to myself.

“I agree with the sentiment”, a voice replies so close next to me that I almost jump.

Blaise Zabini has materialised next to me, looking as tall, dark and handsome as I remembered him. If anything, he has only gotten more handsome since leaving Hogwarts. I’m a bit surprised that he actually approaches me but then again, he was nicer to me than Draco back in the day. And look where he and I are now. Everybody deserves a second chance, right?

“Blaise, hello. Sorry you had to see that”, I chuckle, raising the glass again.

“Don’t worry, love. I understand _completely_. It’s not even a good prosecco but anything to lessen the onslaught of the turquoise and orange, right?”

I can’t help grinning at him, shaking my head. He does have a point, though.

“So, what have you been up to?”

“Bit of this, bit of that”, Blaise answers and shrugs, “got my sights on a job at Durmstrang’s. Nothing’s for certain now. Teaching Potions, if it works out.”

“Loved Snape that much, huh?”

Blaise throws his head back and barks out a laugh.

“That’s probably not the reason. And neither was my love for Slughorn”, he clarifies, shooting me a wink.

“Fair enough”, I reply. I can’t believe talking to Blaise could be so enjoyable to be honest.

“What about you then? Still being a genius? Still married to the moody git?”

He lifts my hand, eyeing the rings adorning my ring finger.

I huff out a laugh at the lovely nom de guerre he has for Draco, not contradicting him because he does have a point.

“Uh, I don’t know about _genius,_ but I have applied to some Ministry internships, trainee programs. Nothing yet, but I heard they will owl the chosen trainees soon. If that doesn’t work out, I might apply to a Muggle university. Getting a degree or two, you know?”

I hold my breath as I wait for Blaise’s verdict on my decidedly not-pureblood plan B. A dazzling smile appears on his face.

“That sounds great, (y/n). You should keep me updated…”

“Updated with _what_?”, growls a voice right next to my ear. Draco has approached us silently and is now fiercely pressing me to his side with an iron arm laid around my waist.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Malfoy”, Blaise calmly states, although his eyebrow is raised in a curious way, “wasn’t going to steal your lovely wife. Don’t know how you deserve her though.”

Draco looks like he’s about to explode even though Blaise’s tone of voice was clearly good-naturedly teasing him. _He’s_ _jealous,_ I realise, a bit baffled by the obvious show of possessiveness.

“Don’t know if you’d deserve me either, Blaise”, I deadpan, looking him up and down, and lean into Draco a little which makes him huff out a laugh while Blaise almost loses it, laughing loudly.

“Feisty. I like your wife, Malfoy. (Y/n)? It’s been a pleasure. Save me a dance later.”

Before Draco can say anything at all to Blaise’s request – no, order –, he has already turned on his heel, making his way over to another table.

“ _Git_ ”, Draco mutters enthusiastically under his breath, loosening the grip around my waist a little, “did he annoy you for long? After taking our cloaks away there were just _too many_ people desperate to catch up.”

I cock an eyebrow at the explanation. Like he wants to make sure that I know how _wanted_ he is by others. Another thing to add to the ever-growing list, then: Draco Malfoy is hopelessly jealous.

“It was actually fun talking to him”, I admit boldly, “I can see why you were friends at school. Maybe we can invite him over for dinner some time?”

Draco looks like he just bit into a lemon, clearly despising the idea. His arm drops to his side and the loss of warmth almost makes me shiver.

“Whatever you want”, he grumbles, grabs a glass of prosecco – and almost downs it all – before slumping down on his chair. I lower myself as well, one hand immediately reaching over to place it on his thigh. When he pats it away, I almost gasp. _That_ has never happened before and suddenly the easy mood has evaporated. I feel like I’m going to burst into tears anytime soon.

Help arrives only a few seconds later, though, because Felix Rosier and a beautiful brunette approach our table. Draco knows Rosier and I know that they’ve always gotten along. And the woman at his side looks nice enough. Glad for the distraction, I plaster on a smile, greeting them politely. I hope I’m not too obviously staring at the scar marring Rosier’s face. I knew he had gotten a job in Romania and was working with dragons. I didn’t know about the disfigurements. He _does_ look more rugged this way, and he’s still undeniably handsome.

“Malfoy! What a pleasure to see you here. And this must be (y/n) then?”, Felix sends a smile my way, the dimples making him look a lot younger.

“Sure is”, I reply and beam at him and his girlfriend.

Draco is still in a foul mood, but he exchanges pleasantries with Felix and the woman is, indeed, his girlfriend, a former Slytherin as well. They talk about Felix’s time in Romania and his new job at the Ministry where he also met the woman of his dreams, as he puts it.

She blushes and flusters at his recollection of their past and how they met again after fifteen years.

“That’s amazing”, I breathe dreamily, tilting my head to the side. Because it is. This is the stuff fairy tales are made of, not arranged marriages. _Great, now I’m in a bad mood too._

I desperately want to touch Draco in _any_ way by now. Here I thought it was him I wanted to comfort all those times.

“How is the future planning going then? Married, yes, kids soon?”, Felix asks innocently, and I choke on my drink. Actually _choke_. Draco roughly pats my back until I feel like I can breathe again, face beet red. From bad to worse in less than a minute. That has got to be a record.

Felix and his girlfriend look _so_ uncomfortable right now and I can’t blame them – I feel uncomfortable too.

“No”, Draco just says with a finality to his words that makes my skin crawl. I realise first now that we never actually talked about it – having children – but going by his reaction, it’s of no use either. He has made his standpoint _very_ clear. My eyes fall onto the bracelet on my wrist, and I swallow around the lump in my throat, begging it to go away.

_God, I just want to hide in the bathroom and cry._

And that’s basically the end of the conversation at our table for now. Two other people come to sit at our table later, an older married couple that look so happy together it feels like getting hit by a jinx just looking at them. If Pansy intended for us to have an absolutely _shitty_ evening, she succeeded. With flying colours. I make harmless small-talk with the married couple and occasionally Felix – Draco has taken a vow of silence, it seems – because I can’t stand the deafening silence. I catch Blaise’s quizzical gaze more than once, his brows furrowed. I suppose it’s quite obvious that something between me and Draco isn’t right. When Pansy and Harold finally make their entrance, I’m actually glad to see them. Another welcome distraction. Pansy and Harold make quite an odd pair – she is tiny and pale, and her dress is not exactly flattering, he is quite… round, a bit pimply and ginger –, but what does me in is that they don’t look _unhappy_. Here I had hoped ( _hoped?_ ) she would see Draco with me and eat her heart out, finally paying her back for making me feel bad all those years ago. No such luck. The only person being punished tonight seems to be me.

I glance over to Draco whose gaze is fixed on the couple. I wonder if he has a similar thought process right now.

After a speech of both their parents who seem over the moon, too, the dinner starts. My appetite is gone, so I pick at the dishes. All six courses. Draco’s insistent silence is tearing me apart slowly. Going by the pitiful glances I receive from our table companions, they notice that as well.

Once the dessert has been eaten, people start mingling again. I use the moment to excuse myself and flee to the bathroom, gathering my wits. I reapply my lipstick and sigh at my reflection. Nothing left to do but power through this evening. It’s what I’m good at, after all.

I’m not prepared to see Pansy on my seat when I return, stopping several metres from them. Draco is actually laughing at something Pansy just said and I’m ready to turn on my heels to… I don’t know. Make small talk with someone. _Anyone_. All that matters is that I don’t have to stand next to Draco now. When I turn around, I collide with a firm chest. Blaise.

“You don’t look very happy right now”, he just states and I almost sob at the soft declaration. His gaze softens even more at the probably pathetic look on my face.

“Come on. You promised me a dance, after all”, he smiles and doesn’t give me the chance to decline. Suddenly we’re in the midst of other dancing pairs, swaying to the classical music provided by a quartet that isn’t half bad. Blaise is a great dancer and when he twirls me around, I can’t help but let out a soft laugh.

When he pulls me in again, he lowers his voice just so I can hear him.

“What’s up with Malfoy? He looks like something crawled up in his ass and died.”

_Okay, no sugar-coating then._

“He’s jealous, I think”, I press out, giving him a crooked smile.

“That _idiot_ ”, he fumes as we quicken our steps to the music, “he is such a clueless little shit. Getting jealous of _me_ …” Blaise chuckles darkly.

I look into his dark, warm eyes questioningly.

“You’re not exactly my type, if you get my drift”, he winks.

_Oh._

“Oh.”

“Sorry to burst that bubble, love”, Blaise grins and shrugs, expertly leading me through the dancing people.

“I’m heartbroken”, I deadpan, wondering why Draco isn’t aware of his former good friend’s inclination.

“I didn’t exactly _advertise_ it, back in the day. Nothing to announce over dinner”, Blaise adds as if he’s reading my thoughts.

“I get that”, I nod, wondering why there’s suddenly a smile on his lips.

“Took you long enough, you idiot”, Blaise straight out says before I can ask what he’s smiling about, and I whip my head around.

Draco is standing there, a little forlornly. While his jaw is still set, his eyes look less hard. Pleading almost. He just offers his hand and I take it without a second thought.

“You kids have fun”, Blaise just grins and leaves us there.

“I’m sorry for behaving like a dickhead”, Draco breathes out without a preamble, pulling me close.

I can’t help melting into his arms, breathing a sigh of relief. Naturally, the music turns into a very slow waltz. Pansy and Harold are among the dancing pairs now too. I rest my cheek on his chest, nodding.

“If you want to, we can invite Blaise over some time”, he mumbles, “if he behaves himself.”

“You should be more worried than me if you think he’ll hit on someone. I’m ‘not exactly’ his type.”

“Oh”, Draco’s replies intelligently before he huffs out a laugh, “I really am an idiot, am I not?”

“A little”, I reply, moving my arms so they are around his neck. My fingers lightly card through his hair before I look into those stupidly grey orbs. “Never seen you this… jealous.”

Draco shrugs, a pained expression on his beautiful face. Merlin, how can someone like him struggle so much with his self-worth? I think that’s entirely Lucius’s doing.

“He’s smart, good-looking, …”, he adds with a strained voice.

“Hm, so are you”, I reply. The prosecco might have loosened my tongue a little.

Instead of a reply, Draco presses his lips to mine chastely, softly, with an underlying emotion I can’t quite place. Swaying there to the soft music, his lips on mine… It’s utterly, heart-wrenchingly perfect.

_I love you._

“What did Pansy say to you?”, I suddenly blurt out. _Way to ruin the moment._

Draco shoots me a lopsided smile, clearly noticing that he wasn’t the only jealous one.

“Told me that she’s glad I have you, after all. How happy she is with Harold. Of all people. Quite an ego-damper if you ask me…”

The jest in his voice is unmistakable. I huff out a laugh and bury my face in the crook of his neck again. I’m not sure how to reply to that. Pansy Parkinson, of all people, is happy that Draco has me. Although it does sound quite a bit like she thinks of me as a consolation prize – since he couldn’t have her –, it’s still a statement I didn’t expect to leave her lips. _Ever._

“Mind leaving this _fancy_ party anytime soon?”

Draco’s breath is hot against my neck and I shiver involuntarily at the promise in his voice.

“Not quite. But would you be okay if we had some drinks with Blaise first? I really _do_ like him”, I murmur before cupping his cheeks and pulling him in for another kiss.

It sounds like someone’s wolf-whistling and I roll my eyes.

“Fine”, Draco replies, and he actually sounds okay with it.

“Thank you”, I breathe and card my fingers through his hair again, feeling oddly proud about him accepting my proposal, and so, so grateful that this evening turned out great after all. Much better than expected to be honest.

We down quite a few drinks with Blaise, and even Pansy and Harold, later. The thunderclouds above our heads have dissipated and it’s just _fun_. It’s easy, not as stuffy, there’s friendly banter between me and Blaise, and Draco and Pansy. She even lays her arms around my shoulder when she’s a bit too drunk for her own good, exclaiming that I have to take care of Draco and that if I don’t do it, she’ll hex me.

“Message received”, I laugh, turning to Draco who is sitting beside me.

“You heard her”, he shrugs and pulls me into another kiss, much to the glee of the fellow people around us.

When we get home, both a little tipsy, I’m pressed against the door frame, Draco’s body a very welcome weight against me. His kisses are even more desperate than usual, passionate. They take my breath away which is good because whenever I come up for air, I just want to say _those damn three words_ that have been haunting me for longer than I care to admit.

Somehow – miraculously – we end up in our bedroom, Draco above me. He’s so _gentle_ tonight. It’s like he’s worshipping me in a way he never has before, and I can’t even begin to process all those feelings wreaking havoc in my head.

Hands interlaced, he drives into me deeper, harder, whilst kissing me so softly.

_I love you so much._

We come almost at the same time. Draco collapses onto me, breathing heavily. I press a soft kiss to his temple as I card my fingers through his hair as I always do.

The bracelet I haven’t taken off gleams in the moonlight.

 _Hope for the future_ , indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The outfits and Draco’s gift:
> 
> The shoes: https://www.mytheresa.com/en-gb/christian-louboutin-double-l-100-patent-leather-sandals-1762476.html?catref=category  
> The earrings: https://www.mytheresa.com/en-gb/miu-miu-crystal-pendant-clip-on-earrings-1739298.html  
> The dress (but in emerald-green): https://www.mytheresa.com/en-gb/monique-lhuillier-silk-chiffon-gown-1786453.html  
> The bag:  
> https://www.harveynichols.com/int/brand/paco-rabanne/416688-pixel-degrade-chainmail-clutch/p3935000/  
> Draco’s suit:  
> https://www.mytheresa.com/en-gb/dolce-gabbana-exclusive-to-mytheresa-single-breasted-jacquard-suit-1694460.html
> 
> And finally, Draco’s thoughtful gift (except in white gold, of course because he only buys precious metals ;-)): https://dorotakos.com/en_US/p/Silver-branch-bracelet-Blueberry/33


End file.
